Bond Mate
by Anderida
Summary: Stiles has a problem that he hopes Deaton can help him with. But it's a bigger problem than he realises and it casts a long shadow over him, even after he leaves for college. Returning to Beacon Hills years later, he struggles to cope. An unexpected birthday present suggests that he may not be the only one. Set after S2. Sterek – of course!
1. Chapter 1: Stalker

**Bond Mate Ch1**

**A/N:** This is a 13 chapter fic set after S2 (but no mention of Derek's new pack so AU in that respect.) No spoilers after S2 - no S3 here in UK :-( .

Rated for language and implied shenanigans. Possible triggers: stalking, depressive thoughts, self-medicating with alcohol, suicide attempt.

_Disclaimer_: Sadly, Teen Wolf, Stiles, Derek, et al, are not mine. If they were … Sorry, zoned out there for a mo. XD

It would be good to know what you like, and don't like, about this fic to help with future fics. I have a ton of ideas in my head.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Stalker<strong>

Stiles didn't know what to make of it. He'd even stopped taking his Adderall for two days in case it was some kind of chemically-induced hallucination. But, no, it was still there. He was still there. Derek Hale.

If Stiles looked up suddenly to glance out of a window, Derek was there. Either somewhere in the shadows of the school grounds or lurking in the shade of the trees that fringed the yard outside his home. At lacrosse, Derek had become a permanent fixture under the bleachers and Stiles couldn't understand how Coach Finstock hadn't done something about the freaky prowler by now.

At the gas station, Stiles had looked up quickly as he slotted the pump nozzle into the Jeep's gas tank and there was Derek, just out of range of the powerful forecourt floodlights. He was only there fleetingly but it _was_ Derek, Stiles had no doubt. He would recognise that surly set of shoulders anywhere.

And anywhere, at any time, was where he'd see him. It was seriously unnerving. Although it might have been a little flattering. At first. After all, Derek was all kinds of hot and maybe, just maybe, he might like Stiles. In the way that Stiles thought that he might like Derek.

Stiles had tried to discuss his personal stalker with Scott. "Hey, isn't that Derek Hale over there?" Scott would always glance up a second too late to see the shadowy figure, and he would then give Stiles that puppy-dog look that said he thought the stress of school or the whole 'my best friend is a werewolf' issue was finally getting to him.

After a while, Stiles gave up even bringing up the name Derek in any context. Scott would moan and bitch about the alpha and Stiles would nod and make appropriate noises, but he no longer involved himself in Scott's werewolf drama.

But there was a dimension to this whole affair that Stiles was loathe to admit to himself; that part of him was thrilled that Derek was watching him. He had jerked off to scenarios like this.

Stiles still felt a frisson of lust whenever he thought about the brooding alpha, but his intellect told him that his feelings would never be reciprocated and teenage hormones were never a good basis for a relationship. He recognised that seeing Derek's actions through the lens of adolescent desire and arousal was distorting the truth, yet part of him was still elated that he was the focus of Derek Hale's undivided attention.

And if Stiles had entertained one small hope that Derek might have been gay with a thing for pale teens who talked too much, he would have accepted the attention. But Derek was straight, and an adult, and easily annoyed. There was no way he would be anything but horrified that Stiles had the biggest crush on him. The stalking had to stop.

Having satisfied himself that neither an overdose nor lack of medication was responsible for the ethereal glimpses, Stiles decided that the only way he could cope was to ignore the man in the hope that he would go away. Because that's what you do with bullies, right? You ignore them. And by now this felt a lot like bullying to Stiles, even though not a word had been spoken between the two since he'd first noticed that he'd gained an extra shadow.

He stopped researching all things lycanthropic and he started doing his homework at the library where he could avoid desks near windows. When Lydia had announced she was throwing a party in honour of Jackson's new Porche (or something like that, he really wasn't paying attention) and she had actually invited Stiles, _personally,_ he had declined, fabricating an excuse that he'd already promised his dad he'd spend some quality father-son time with him that same evening. By the look on her face, Lydia was about to call him on it, but at the last minute she grimaced a sort of smile and excused him.

But his efforts to avoid the alpha proved futile as, no matter how steadfastly he tried not to focus on the dark imposing figure that constantly hovered in his peripheral vision, Stiles found himself actively checking for the werewolf despite himself. He was losing his mind, he was sure of it.

He knew now that he ought to confront Derek directly, have it out with him man to man, um, teen to werewolf. But Stiles baulked at that. What could he seriously threaten an alpha werewolf with that would have any impact on his behaviour? "Back off, Derek, or I'll …." What exactly? That was an epic fail in the making.

And that was how he'd ended up in Deaton's consulting room waiting for a bronchial cat to be discharged.

As the cat, animal carrier, owner and antibiotic tablets (good luck with _that_!) made their way across the veterinarian's forecourt, Deaton locked the main door and turned to fix Stiles with a knowing stare.

"How can I help you, Mr Stilinski?"

Stiles scrubbed a hand over his face before answering. "Honestly, doc? I don't even know."

"Come through to my office and tell me about it."

Deaton led the way into a small adjacent room and indicated a chair to Stiles on one side of a crowded desk, as he took a seat on the other.

"May I ask," he said evenly, "if this is about Derek Hale?"

"How did you know? " Stiles asked, amazed and a little spooked.

"It is sufficient that I do know," Deaton replied enigmatically, with a slight incline of his head as an indication to Stiles to talk.

"So you know that Derek is my stalker?"

"I hesitate to use the term, 'stalker', but, yes, I see how it might feel like that from your standpoint."

"But you know Derek's stalking me?"

"That's really not an accurate description, but, yes, I know Derek has been compelled to seek you out."

"Oh my god! That's such a relief – that someone else knows. That I'm not going mad. But, it's also really disconcerting that it's true – that Derek is stalking me."

"As I said, the term 'stalking' is not all that accurate, and unhelpfully pejorative."

"It's not stalking? Are you kidding me?" Stiles asked incredulously, anger creeping into his voice. "You do know that he's everywhere, don't you? Everywhere I go, he's there. Everywhere. And now I'm pretty sure I saw him _inside_ the library yesterday. Inside! It was my only refuge. I even see him in my dreams, um, nightmares, in my nightmares, so I don't even get a break when I'm asleep. How is that not stalking?"

Stiles voice had become more frantic as he spoke and Deaton rose and came around his desk to perch on the edge of it, facing Stiles.

"I'm sorry," he said gently, "it was not my intention to distress you. But there are other issues here that you are not aware of. I ask you to trust me when I tell you that, from Derek's perspective, it is not a question of stalking."

"I don't goddamn care if Derek thinks he's just out for a stroll that coincidentally takes him to every single place that I go to, at the exact same time. I call it as I see it: I'm being stalked!"

"Please, calm yourself, Mr Stilinski. I understand that this is distressing for you," Deaton murmured in a tone that Stiles imagined he used on doting owners of overweight pets when he advised to cut out between–meal treats.

"Distressing? Not even close! 'Distressing' would be welcome let me tell you. 'Distressing' would be a holiday. You need to get him to stop. Okay? Because I can't do this anymore."

Stiles slumped over in his chair and put his head in his hands as he willed away his tears. The moment of relief he had felt at realising he was not imagining it all had been trashed by the inability of the other man to see how wrong this was. To understand the damage it was doing to him.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he let out a sob. He'd had a lot of crap happen in his 17 years and this was right up there with the worst of it.

"Mr Stilinski, Stiles, I do not wish to belittle the strength of your feelings in this matter. I do appreciate that this is difficult for you. But I ask you to accept that this is as difficult for Derek."

Stiles shook himself free of Deaton's hand and straightened in his chair to look the man in the eye.

"No, it's really not!"

"I'm afraid it is. This is a troubling time for both of you."

"You're gonna have to explain that, doc," Stiles said icily.

"It isn't really for me to do that." As Stiles opened his mouth to protest, Deaton held up a hand to forestall him. "I would if I could, Stiles. But tell me, when you arrived here, did you park your Jeep out front?"

A look of confusion spread across Stiles' face as he shook his head.

"No? And did you wait outside, out of sight, until you saw that your friend Scott had left for the evening?"

Stiles nodded slowly.

"I would imagine that you did that because you didn't want your friend knowing why you were here, am I right?"

Another nod.

"And I hope you know that I will treat anything you tell me in the strictest confidence?" At a further nod from Stiles, Deaton continued, "Then you will have some idea of why I cannot explain further in this matter that concerns Derek Hale?"

"But it concerns me too. I deserve to know what's going on. I need to know." Stiles moaned sadly.

"I understand. All I am saying is that it isn't for me to break a confidence. You need answers but I am not the one to provide them."

"Who then? Derek? The guy who's the cause of all this? That's like seeking out a serial killer to ask how to dispose of a body?"

Deaton huffed a broken laugh. "Colourful simile, Mr Stilinski. But quite inappropriate in these circumstances, I assure you. But, yes, you must have this conversation with Derek Hale, not I. It is the best advice I can give you. It is the only way that you might resolve this situation. Do you know Boyce's lumber yard?"

"Boyce's? Yeah, why?"

"Park your car there in 30 minutes and wait. I will ask Derek to meet you. You may discuss your issues in private there, without fear of interruption."

"What? Are you mad? Meet Derek in a parking lot that is so far off the beaten track that even the owner of the lumber yard forgets about it? Do you want my body not to be found until they start up logging again in the spring?"

"You are at no risk, Mr Stilinski. And in any case, I know you will be with Derek. It is just that the conversation you must have requires complete privacy. You will have that at Boyce's."

"Seriously? You're going with privacy over my safety?"

"You will be perfectly safe. Derek, on the other hand, will be taking a certain level of risk that he will be uncomfortable with. But I will convince him that he needs to meet with you nonetheless."

"Derek? At risk from me? Have you been sampling the animal pharmaceuticals? I'm no threat to an alpha werewolf."

"Oh, but you are, Mr Stilinski. Not to any alpha admittedly, but to this one, oh yes. He will be the one at risk here, I can assure you. I know this makes no sense to you just now. That is why you must meet with Derek tonight."


	2. Chapter 2: The Wolf Knows

**Chapter 2: The Wolf Knows**

Half an hour later Stiles found himself sitting in his Jeep, nervously scanning the shadows that edged the dirt parking lot at Boyce's deserted yard. As he checked the time on his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes, he heard the passenger door-lock click. Derek slid into the seat next to him and pulled the car door shut.

"Deaton said you wanted to talk," the werewolf stated indifferently, with no preamble.

"No. I'm not looking for a discussion or a debate. I just need you to stop stalking me. Give me your word you'll stop and we don't need to talk about anything."

"You don't understand," Derek snapped.

"Oh my god, no I don't!" Stiles felt like he could hit the next person who told him that – although maybe not if they were a werewolf. "How can I understand when no-one will explain? So no, I don't understand. Care to enlighten me?"

Silence filled the space between them uncomfortably.

Stiles was about to tell Derek to get the hell out of his car, when the werewolf asked suddenly, "What did Deaton tell you?"

"Deaton? Clams are more communicative. All he said was that I needed to talk to you. And some weird stuff about _me_ being a threat to _you_, which, though good for my ego, is ridiculous."

"He said nothing else?"

"Other than that this would be a good place for privacy, no."

"Yes, we can't be overheard here, not even by another werewolf, not without them coming onto this plateau and I would know we weren't alone then," Derek drew in a breath. "I mostly appreciate Deaton's discretion but not about this."

"Can we just drop the cryptic crap? Yes, this is an awesome location," Stiles moaned sarcastically, "and if you want me to swear some kind of confidentiality agreement, you got it. Now can you just explain why you're stalking me and agree to stop?"

Derek sighed and stared out of the windshield for a while more before Stiles barked angrily, "Anytime this century would be good."

Derek cut a glance at him before asking, "What do you know about werewolf lore?"

"Plenty. But I'm talking about you being Mr Stranger Danger, not having a pop quiz about all things furry on the full moon. Start explaining or get out and I go see my dad."

"You don't need to do that. And he wouldn't believe you. You're the only one who sees me. My wolf is careful."

Stiles felt a slither of panic slip into his chest, razor-sharp and painful enough to take his breath away.

"Stiles, that wasn't a threat. Calm down. I don't mean you any harm and I'm not stalking you…"

Stiles opened his mouth to protest but Derek continued, "I know, it must look like that to you. I don't want to scare you. Or hurt you. That's so far from what I want. It's just that as the full moon approaches my wolf needs to be near you even more. To make sure you're safe. "

"Why me? No, actually, I don't even care. Just stop!" Stiles demanded shakily.

"I can't. Not on my own," Derek muttered.

"What? Is this like some kind of addiction? Like smoking? Is that it? Do you need the wolfie equivalent of a nicotine patch to quit stalking?"

"I guess 'addiction' is as good a term as any."

"What is it you need in order to stop then?"

"You." Stiles wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"What? Me? How? Why? What?"

Derek turned in his seat to face Stiles. "I'm not good at explaining things, which is why I'd hoped Deaton might have said something. But this compulsion my wolf has to seek you out and watch over you is too strong for me to just stop. The forces compelling my wolf to do this are primal, fundamental. I'm sorry."

"You can keep your apologies," Stiles said angrily, "just tell me what the hell is going on and what it's got to do with me. Knowing you can't control your wolf side is seriously scary."

"You're in no danger…"

"Have you met you?" Stiles cut in.

"My wolf just wants to keep you safe."

"Why would your wolf be concerned with my safety?"

Derek sighed heavily. "My wolf sees you as my…my mate. My bond-mate. It's a once-in-a-lifetime pairing and my wolf has identified you as mine. Until we are paired, there's a kind of instinct that pulls me to your side to protect you and, um, bond with you."

"Wha… What? No, that still makes no sense. Mate? Lifetime pairing? What is that? Is that like a, um," Stiles' voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper, "a romantic thing?" He tried to recall his research on the subject of werewolf mating habits as he felt that traitorous spike of arousal spark through him.

Derek turned back to stare out of the windshield. "Yeah, I guess," he said glumly, "It's like finding your soul-mate. The one person in the whole world that you're meant to be with."

Stiles' brow furrowed as he tried to tamp down his optimism. "You do know that the 'one person in all the world' soul-matey stuff is a total myth, don't you? Invented by Hollywood?"

"Not for werewolves. Regular wolves pair for life and we're no different. We find a mate, just like humans, but we spend the rest of our lives together," Derek stated sullenly, his eyes still fixed on a spot in the darkness beyond the Jeep. "But for some werewolves though, there is a bond-mate out there, their one true mate. It's extremely rare. But when it happens, when we find our bond-mate, we are compelled by our wolf side to protect them until we're bonded. That's why I've have to watch over you: so my wolf knows you're safe.

"I can't stop because this 'addiction' to be at your side is too powerful, even for me. I've thought of chaining myself up, locking myself away. But the instinct is too overwhelming and painful if denied. I am compelled all the while we are unbonded."

"Because your wolf sees me as, what, your potential significant other? And you can't talk sense to it?" Outwardly Stiles may have sounded outraged, but inside his stomach flipped with something that might have been excitement.

"You think I want this?" Derek said bitterly, "You think I wanted my wolf to fall for you? That I wouldn't put a stop to this if I could?"

"Hey!" protested Stiles, anger replacing hope. "You don't have to sound so revolted by the idea. Some people might find me attractive relationship material. Not Lydia, admittedly, and, well okay, the jury's still out on gay guys, but …."

"Christ, Stiles, it's not that. But I'm older, I'm a guy and I'm a werewolf with a personality to match. You're young with your life ahead of you, you're straight and you don't need this werewolf stuff ruining your life."

"Oh-kaay, two out of three there, Mr Wolf. I think the correct term is 'bi', FYI."

Derek looked sideways at him, puzzled, before his expression changed as he suddenly realised what Stiles had said.

"Oh, okay, my mistake. What with all the 'Lydia this' and 'Lydia that'…"

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" Stiles shrugged. "Me and Lydia go way back. Before I'd even heard the word 'gay' so what did I know?"

"Well, that doesn't change anything; I'm not about to bond with a teenager."

"So, what? You're just gonna follow me around like some lovesick puppy for, what, the rest of my life? 'Cause that's gonna suck. For both of us, I'd guess."

"Banishment," Derek said in a voice so quiet that Stiles wondered if he'd forgotten that humans don't have werewolf hearing.

"Banishment? What do you mean? From my life? From Beacon Hills?"

"From North America," Derek muttered under his breath.

"Say again?" Stiles said, blinking rapidly at the profile of the man who, until a few minutes ago, had seemed like a serious menace and who now looked too defeated to be much of a threat to a Chihuahua.

"I wouldn't be able to remain on the same continent. The pull of an un-bonded mate would be too great. Distance and large bodies of water can help me cope, supress the urge to, um, bond." Derek shrugged and glanced across at Stiles as if to let him see the sincerity in his face, which had lost the arrogance Stiles had come to associate with the man.

"It would be that bad for you?" Stiles asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes. I doubt I would survive without crossing water. Even when I was in New York, after the fire, I could still feel the pull of my family here in Beacon Hills. And they were dead and that was just a familial bond, not an unpaired mate-bond which is infinitely stronger."

"God, Derek, I don't want you to have to leave your home because of me," Stiles was aghast.

"Not because of you, Stiles. Because I am a werewolf and because my wolf side has chosen you as its mate. None of that is down to you."

"But you'd be leaving because I said 'no' to being your mate. That's right, yeah?"

"It's hardly your fault that my wolf picked you. It's my fault. I'm sorry, Stiles."

"If I've understood this, none of it is down to you either. And your wolf is just, what? Going on instinct? A sort of blind instinctive force that makes no logical sense? Not really your fault – or your wolf's."

"It's more than that Stiles. I had to ask Deaton what this all meant because I wasn't sure. Bond-mates are so rare. From what Deaton told me, the choice of mate is actually a rational decision as well as an instinctual one. The wolf feels an attraction, but it also makes a judgement about that person before confirming its choice of bond-mate. That's why it doesn't happen often.

Derek pushed a hand through his hair making it stick out in all directions. "Deaton should really explain this."

"Deaton's not here. You are," Stiles observed tetchily. "I'm not sure I've understood what you're telling me. You're saying that your wolf side felt a, what, a romantic inclination towards me?"

Derek nodded, his eyes now focused somewhere near his boots.

"But, what, there's more to it than just having a crush on someone? Your wolf considers a candidate's suitability to be a, um, bond-mate before sealing the deal?"

"Yes. As Deaton explained it to me, a prospective mate has to measure up in other ways or the wolf will reject them. I remember my dad saying something like that when I was growing up. He was my mom's human bond-mate."

"Oh. Okay. There's precedent. Good to know. So, anyway, that means I must 'measure up' or you wouldn't be stalking me, yeah?"

"How can you even ask? Of course you do. That's what makes this so fucking difficult," Derek snapped with sudden vehemence.

"Hey, calm down. What did I say that's got you so mad?"

Derek's face fell and he was back to looking like someone had just kicked his puppy. (Which must be like kicking a close relative, Stiles thought before he wrenched his focus back.)

"God, I'm sorry, Stiles. Look, I get that this has put you in a difficult situation."

"Scratch 'difficult' and try 'intimidating' and 'mind-boggling'."

"Look, you just need to know that the 'stalking' will end. You won't see me again after tonight," Derek said wearily, running his hand through his hair again. He opened the car door. "I'll leave for Europe in the morning."


	3. Chapter 3: Chronology and Lycanthropy

**Chapter 3: Chronology and lycanthropy**

Stiles' hand flew up to seize Derek's arm. "Where the hell are you going?" he asked aggressively.

"We're done here," Derek muttered.

"No, we're really not. Shut the damn door," Stiles instructed, releasing his grip.

To Stiles' surprise, Derek complied, pulling the Jeep door closed.

"You want the stalking to stop, Stiles. So do I. So I'll leave the country. You'll never have to see me again."

"You think that's what I want? To make you leave your home?"

"I have to stop following you. This is the only way I know how."

"Derek, there must be another way round this. It can't be right that you have to emigrate half way round the world. What did Deaton say? Is there another way? There has to be."

Derek sighed. "There's only one other way, and that's something you don't want."

"So there _is_ another way! Wait! What don't I want?"

"To be my bond-mate," Derek murmured.

"Oh! What makes you…? Wait, you said something _I_ don't want? Not something _you_ don't want or _we_ don't want. Does that mean that you _do_ want me? Want me as your ... mate?"

Derek turned abruptly to face Stiles who sat back in surprise.

"Yes, I want you!" Derek said fiercely. "I want you as my bond-mate. All of me wants you; the wolf and the man. But I'm the adult here Stiles. I won't let this happen."

Derek's eyes blazed red fleetingly.

"_You_ want me? Not just your wolf? Want me, um, for a mate? Like a boyfriend thing?" Stiles tried to understand what he was hearing and not let his imagination run wild.

Derek dropped his head into his hands, his anger gone. "Christ, Stiles, I've wanted you from almost the moment we first met. I saw the person you are and I felt drawn to you. Long before my wolf finally came to its senses. If I was still at high school I would have pursued a relationship with you. If you'd let me. But I'm not in high school. And I'm a werewolf. You know how this works." He looked up. "Now my wolf has confirmed my feelings for you, I can't stay. I have to go so that you can have a chance at a normal life."

"So, both you and your wolf are interested in me in a romantic way?" Stiles pushed.

Derek just nodded.

"Oh," Stiles said thoughtfully, "and would I have to become a werewolf to be your mate? Would you have to bite me?"

"No. No bite. Bond-mates can be human, like my dad. And I would never bite you unless you wanted it."

"Okay. So that's a 'no' to needing to become a werewolf. Got it. So, if I was to, you know, feel the same, about you. Would that mean – you could stay?"

Derek gave Stiles a confused look. "Did I not explain this? We can't do this. And that means that I have to leave."

"And the reason we can't do this is, what again? Chronology and lycanthropy?"

Derek said nothing but his annoyed look conveyed his scepticism that Stiles needed to ask.

"Because, Derek, I don't actually see those as sufficient reason."

"Ask your father what he thinks about age and werewolves," Derek stated tersely.

"Oh, low blow, Mr Hale."

"But that's the reality, Stiles."

"No actually, it's not. The reality is that you, for some reason, have decided you don't want to put any effort into your happiness, or mine. You'd rather run away instead."

"That's not what…"

"No, hear me out, Mr Sour Wolf. I listened to you. You need to know that I never thought I would have a chance, romantically, with the great Derek Hale. I may have tried to distract myself with Lydia, you know, more than usual, and maybe I had hopes in Danny's direction. Okay, not actually with Danny, though he's nice enough, but I thought maybe he had a friend he could introduce… Anyway, I never thought you would even look at me like that. Although once or twice I liked to kid myself you might have been flirting but…

"So, anyway, now I know that you have, um, that you _do_ look at me like that, well, I'm not going to pass up on the opportunity to be in a relationship with you."

"It isn't just a relationship. That's what you don't understand. It isn't some teenage crush you can grow out of," Derek growled angrily.

"I get that. I think the bond-mate _for life_ was a bit of a clue there."

"It's not a game. I would be asking you to make a choice now that would last the rest of our lives. You're too young to be making irrevocable decisions like that."

"You're not much older than me if you talking in terms of the length of a lifetime."

"But I have my wolf. It knows you're my bond-mate. There's no doubt, no second guessing for me. There can be no-one else for me. My wolf confirms it."

"And I trust your wolf. So maybe we are meant to be together. We should definitely give it a go."

"There's no 'give it a go'. This is a permanent deal," Derek snapped.

"Yeah, got that. I feel strangely accepting of that. What about you? Be honest with me, Derek. Ignoring everything else, all the age issues and the whole werewolf thing, is this what you truly want? A bond-pairing, or whatever, with me?"

"Truthfully? Yes," Derek mumbled, sadly it seemed to Stiles, "But it's not responsible of me to want that."

"Seriously? Can you just be Derek, the potential boyfriend, and not a substitute father-figure? My dad doesn't need the help, believe me.

"Look, the last thing my mom said to me before she died was, 'be happy, Stiles', and this – you – will make me happy. _I_ want to be with you, Derek. Your wolfie senses should tell you I'm not lying. You and your wolf want to be with _me_. I don't see a problem."

"That's because you're a teenager and you don't understand what it means to be a bond-mate. You couldn't leave me and I wouldn't leave you. We would be linked for life."

"That worries you? Oh, okay, so what happens if you decide you don't want me as a bond-mate anymore?"

"I wouldn't. This is it for me. You are it. Only the human could have a change of heart."

"What happens then, you know, if _I_ dumped _you_? Would you have to go to Europe then?"

"No, Stiles. Werewolves can't survive a broken bonding. I would die," Derek stated blandly.

"Die? For real?"

"Yes, a broken bond is fatal for werewolves. Not for humans, just the wolf side of the relationship. A bond between two werewolves is permanent. Both enter the pairing knowing this, accepting of it, and neither will ever wish to leave the bond. Only a bond involving a human can be broken. But once a bond has been initiated, if it's broken, the wolf dies."

"Oh my god, that's barbaric! Wait, what initiates the bond? Is it like a wedding or something?"

"More like a wedding _night_."

"Oh!" Stiles flushed a deep red.

"A special bonding bite is needed during … and then the bond is made and only the non-wolf can break it. Would ever _want_ to break it."

"And you die if I decide to leave you?" Stiles sounded stunned.

"Yes. But it will never happen because I won't tie you to me for the rest of your life. I won't do it, Stiles."

"I think werewolf weddings need to come into the 21st century," Stiles complained, "It's medieval."

"Our culture has never demonised same-sex pairings or allowed blind prejudice to cloud our judgement of the worth of others," Derek retorted.

"Well, whoopee-doo! Werewolves are equal opportunity supernatural creatures. But I'm not going to break our bond, especially not when I know it would kill you. What kind of person does that? So we're cool, yeah? We can give this a go?" Stiles waved his hand back and forth in the gap between them.

"You didn't hear anything I said, did you?" Derek sighed. "No, Stiles, we will not 'give this a go'. Tomorrow I'll leave for Europe. I know a pack who will take me in as an omega. They owed fealty to my mother's pack. You won't hear from me again."

"An omega. You wouldn't be an alpha anymore? No, Derek, don't do this. Don't go. We can work something out. I don't mind you stalking me. You can stalk as much as you like. You have my permission to be my official stalker."

"You might not understand it now, Stiles. When you're older, you'll thank me."

Derek opened the car door again and this time got out.

"Derek, please don't do this. Can we just talk this through? We'll go and see Deaton, he'll think of something. Please Derek."

Then Derek was leaning into the car. He reached out and gripped the front of Stiles shirt, pulling him forward until their lips met. And then Derek was gone.

Alone in a dirt parking lot on the far side of Beacon Hills, Stiles cried like he hadn't since the day his mother had breathed her last.

The following day, Stiles skipped school and went to search for Derek. It was like hunting a ghost. Nothing remained that even suggested Derek had ever returned to Beacon Hills.

When Scott left work that evening, Stiles slipped into the vet's surgery and waited until a pet corn snake had been examined and returned to its tearful young owner.

"Make sure you only feed him mice from the pet store. No more free-range mice with all the diseases they carry, or he might not be so lucky next time," Deaton said as he ushered the boy and his reptile out of the waiting room.

As he locked the main door, Deaton said quietly, "I thought you would come, Mr Stilinski. I am sorry."

"Do you know where he's going?"

"I understand that he intends to make his way to Europe. Derek doesn't share easily, so …." The vet moved to stand in front of the door to the consulting room.

"What am I going to do?" Stiles asked, in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

"You will take each day at a time, Stiles. You will go to school – yes I know you missed classes today – and you will study and go off to college and have a life. The life Derek wants for you. Don't let his sacrifice be in vain."

Stiles walked silently to the main door and unlocked it again. He stood by the open door for a few moments as if thinking to himself.

"I didn't ask him to do this. I didn't want him to go. We could have worked things out."

"He is doing what he thinks is best for you."

"He never said it, you know?"

"Said what?"

"He never said, he never said he loved me. But he did, didn't he? He wouldn't have done this if he didn't love me. Would he? But he should have said it. Just once."

Stiles stepped through the doorway and the door closed behind him. Deaton was quiet for a minute as he watched Stiles cross the forecourt and then turn into the street opposite. Then he said quietly, "Are you sure about this, Derek."

Derek stepped out of the consulting room. "I have no choice," he murmured. "But he's right. I do love him. I can't tell him that."

Deaton nodded, "No, that would be cruel."

"Watch out for him, Deaton. Watch out for him."


	4. Chapter 4: The Birthday Gift

**Bond Mate Ch4**

**Chapter 4: The Birthday Gift**

A little over three years after Derek Hale's sudden departure, Stiles was preparing to celebrate his 21st birthday. He had come home from UCI to spend time with his father, to meet up with his old friends from high school who were returning to Beacon Hills for the vacation, and to party hard.

Coming home was always a bitter-sweet experience for Stiles. He loved seeing his father and hanging out with Scott, who had stayed in Beacon Hills to attend the local community college. And sometimes Lydia would be home from MIT, Jackson in her wake, and she would throw a party and Stiles could drink and forget that he was home.

He would fill his days in Beacon Hills; always something to do, somewhere to go, someone to see. Except, of course, that one person he longed to see. Even if it was only in his peripheral vision in the shadows of his father's backyard, or just beyond the gas station overheads, or lurking under the bleachers when he returned to watch Beacons Hills get soundly beaten at lacrosse by the visiting team.

He had a work placement lined up in four weeks and, in deference to his father's wishes, he had agreed to spend the whole four weeks at home, the longest he had spent back home since he had moved away to Irvine almost three years before.

Sadly, he was not looking forward to his stay. He never did. He knew why. He just didn't know what to do about it.

In the early days following Derek's departure, Stiles had practically camped out in Deaton's clinic. Scott had assumed Stiles was turning up at the clinic to hang out with him because he was missing seeing his best friend since Scott had started dating Alison, so Stiles was never called on it.

Stiles was grateful for that. Because how would he explain any of this to Scott? Scott, who was so pleased when Derek had dropped off the grid. Scott, who continued to bitch about all things werewolf. Scott, who still didn't get that Stiles wasn't only attracted to girls.

At Irvine, Stiles had tried throwing himself into the party scene, hooking up as if the world was about to end and not being particularly selective in his choice of partners. By the end of the second quarter he was on his way to getting an unsavoury reputation for himself. He couldn't have cared less.

But on his return to Beacon Hills that spring break, Deaton had asked to see him and Stiles was shocked to find out that the vet seemed to know all about his on-campus social life. Deaton, in that quiet, non-judgemental way of his, held up a mirror to Stiles and showed him that the image it reflected was not a pleasant one. Not one his father would be proud of. Not one his mother would have wanted for her son. Stiles returned to Irvine a chastened man; a changed man.

After that he had dated with more respect for himself and his partners, and had had a few longer term relationships. At first he had dated other guys, but soon decided to stick to dating girls to avoid constantly comparing the men with a certain werewolf he'd once known, and, it seemed, had loved. Still loved. That was the elephant in the room hunkered down alongside everyone he had ever hooked up with.

The good thing about his blighted love life was that it meant he immersed himself in his studies and was soon top of his class in every subject. It was the one thing that he felt good about.

After that first spring break, Stiles had made a point of stopping by Deaton's clinic every time he returned home. They talked about his studies, recent veterinary admissions and Scott. Derek and the supernatural were never discussed. But, in an odd sort of way, Stiles always felt close to Derek when he was with Deaton. Deaton was, after all, the only other person who knew about him and Derek, and the reason that Derek had left so suddenly.

So, as he pulled his elderly Jeep into the veterinarian's parking lot the first morning of his return to Beacon Hills for his 21st, Stiles felt some of the strain of this trip lift. He had come to look forward to his chats with Deaton, even though they were nothing more than gossip and general chatter.

Deaton had told him to go round back where the door would be open. As Stiles approached the door he had that same old feeling, that if he just turned his head fast enough he would see Derek standing immobile in the shadows. He knew it was wishful thinking, and no matter that he felt it more strongly this time, he wouldn't give in to the temptation to turn and look and have his hopes dashed once more. He had learnt from bitter experience over the years that his innate optimism only ended in crushing disappointment.

Deaton held the door open as Stiles entered the rear examination room and the men exchanged greetings.

"You've put on a little weight since Christmas?" Deaton asked, smiling gently, "It looks good on you".

"Thanks. Yeah, I joined the gym but now I eat more because my brain thinks I need the extra energy because I've joined a gym. Go figure."

"You always had a big appetite. Do you still run?"

"Yeah. It helps with the ADHD. Still have that too." Stiles smiled.

Ushering Stiles into his office, Deaton took a deep breath.

"Stiles. I need to tell you something important."

The serious expression on the older man's face made Stiles suddenly anxious. "What is it? Is he okay? Has something happened to him?"

Although Derek had never been discussed by Deaton and Stiles in the years since Stiles had been at UCI, Deaton knew exactly who he meant.

"No, Stiles, no. Derek is fi…Derek is well. No, this concerns you. And your birthday."

"Um, what? You bought me a cake?" Stiles asked flippantly, trying to lighten the atmosphere, Deaton's comment only confirming what Stiles had suspected over the years; that the vet was still in touch with Derek. He was never quite sure how he felt about that. Envy was possibly his main emotion.

"No, no. I understand Lydia has the cake covered." Deaton smiled. "No, Stiles. Oh, please. Sit down."

Stiles slipped into the seat next to the desk, the same seat, he remembered, that he had been sitting in that fateful night when Deaton had told him that Derek wasn't really a stalker. That night was the last time he had seen Derek. The memory hurt him still.

"Stiles, in a few days you will be 21."

"Yeah. I can hear the bar staff at Riley's breathe a collective sigh of relief," Stiles said grinning, forcing his thoughts back to the present.

"I don't doubt it," the vet said, giving a little half-smile before his expression became serious again. "I have been instructed to convey a gift to you for your birthday. In order to do so, I need to ask you to come here, early on the morning of your birthday, to sign some papers."

"Papers?"

"Yes, the gift is a bequest of sorts."

"Like in a will? Someone died?"

"No, not a last will and testament bequest. No-one is dead. This is a gift. A grant of property. You will need to come here on your birthday, on Friday, to sign the conveyance to put the property in your name."

"Property? What property? You mean someone's giving me a house for a birthday present? A living somebody? Bit extreme. A token for Barnes & Noble would suffice. But you don't mean a house do you? I mean who gives a house as a birthday present? Oh, unless… Does my dad's bank know, because I'm pretty sure it'll nix the mortgage?"

"No, Stiles, it's not your family home. Derek is assigning his house, and the woods immediately surrounding it, to you and your heirs in perpetuity. You may do with it as you wish. There are no stipulations or restrictive clauses."

"Derek?" Stiles felt the colour drain from his face. He felt faint. He gripped the edge of the desk in front of him and willed himself to focus, to understand what Deaton had just said.

"I don't want it. I don't want his goddamn house. I thought it was property of the state now anyway?"

"It was for a time, while other assets were liquidised to pay the lien on the property from Peter's nursing home expenses. The lien and all of Peter's debts have been paid. Now the property and land is free of any encumbrance and there is also an investment account with sufficient capital to rebuild the property, or not, as you wish. As I said, there are no restrictions so you may use the money, and the house and land, as you see fit."

"What? No."

"Stiles?"

"I don't want it, Deaton. I don't want a goddamn thing from Derek-fucking-Hale. Except the one thing he wouldn't give me. So no. Tell him he can stuff his house where the sun don't shine."

"I understand this might be difficult…"

"Don't!" Stiles warned. "I don't want to hear it. Do you know how hard these last few years have been for me? Of course you do, because you know everything, right? Then you'll know that there is only one thing in the world that I want…and it's NOT his damn _house_! How _dare_ he! I can't…I can't do this."

Deaton called out his name as Stiles bolted from the room, knocking over his chair and causing the boarded animals to start a cacophony of barks and yowls and squawks.

Stiles raced back to his Jeep, only vaguely aware that tears were stinging behind his eyes. He started the engine, threw it into gear and shot out of the forecourt like the devil was after him.

He didn't know where he was going but the Jeep's engine was comforting so he just began driving aimlessly.

Some twenty minutes later Stiles realised where he was. He cursed loudly and pulled over. He was parked in Beacon Hills Preserve, on the dirt road leading up to the Hale house.


	5. Chapter 5: Hale House Blues

**Chapter 5: Hale House Blues**

Stiles clambered out of his car, knowing he couldn't avoid what was coming next. It was as though some invisible force was at work, drawing him in. He began to have an inkling of how Derek might have felt when he was compelled to lurk in shadows.

Stiles let the instinct take over and his legs began to move seemingly of their own volition. He felt oddly numb now and didn't attempt to stop himself as he walked the short distance to the clearing in front of the Hale house.

The building was more ruined than he remembered, with fresh graffiti marring the front wall and door. He stared at the dark, hulking edifice, remembering all the other times he had been there. Remembering Derek in the back of the police cruiser, Derek on the steps of the porch, Derek slicing Peter's throat, his eyes glowing red. He felt the numbness slip away incrementally, to be replaced with the overwhelming pain of loss.

Stiles slumped to the ground, his legs no longer able to support him. At that moment he gave up on his efforts to blink away his tears. He let them come, let his emotions erupt to the surface, and he wallowed in his pain.

He hadn't cried since that night in Boyce's lumber yard and he berated himself for being so childish. He was an adult now and there was part of him that felt ashamed for giving in to his grief in such an immature way. But he also realised that he needed to unload some of his distress and here, away from prying eyes and awkward questions, was the best place to let go.

He felt his pain more sharply now than he had back in that yard, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Two things had changed since then; firstly, now he _knew,_ without any vestige of doubt, that he loved Derek Hale. Irrevocably. Without any logic or reason. From deep within his soul he knew he was forever bound to an alpha werewolf on the other side of the world.

And secondly, he now knew that they would never be together. The intervening years had proved that, and had stolen his hope. If he had needed further evidence then he had it in Derek wanting to give away his house; this house, and its land. Clearly, the werewolf was never intending to return to Beacon Hills.

Stiles wasn't sure how long he had been crying when he became aware of a presence behind him. A familiar feeling. One he'd felt briefly at Deaton's parking lot earlier and had discounted. But this time the strength of the feeling told him he had been wrong. Derek was here.

Derek, the object of all his fantasies was here, but Stiles understood that this reality was less tangible than his dreams.

"Good of you to come visit," Stiles said, sniffing. He didn't attempt to hide his sorrow or his bitterness, and he didn't look round or even look up from the bare earth he was hunched over. "I guess you've found a way round the bond-mate compulsion. It seems now you can bear to be on the same continent as me, even if stalking is still an issue."

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't need to be. I have to sign the papers to deed the house to you."

The sound of Derek's voice was like a body-blow to Stiles. He suddenly had the confirmation he hadn't realised that he needed; that his love for Derek was stronger now. All-consuming. Overwhelming.

A million different feelings, questions, urges, accusations whirled in his head and he struggled to catch his breath. Then he was shouting.

"I don't want your fucking house, Derek. You can stick it. You can just crawl back under whatever rock you now call home and die, for all I damn well care."

"Stiles…"

"Don't you fucking dare, Derek. Don't you dare speak to me. You chose not to speak to me all these years. Your choice. Well you can just shut the fuck up now."

He didn't trust himself to turn round to look at Derek, who, he had the impression, was standing just inside the clearing less than twenty feet behind him to his left. He wanted to look. He wanted to touch. But he also wanted to shout and scream and hurt Derek, like Derek had hurt him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to do that if he once looked round.

"As soon as I've signed the papers," Derek said distantly, "I'll be returning to Europe. There will be no reason for me to keep in touch with Deaton then. You won't hear from me again."

"Really? I won't get my hopes up. Because you said that last time, yet here you are." Stiles threw his hands up in frustration but he still didn't turn or move from the ground where he was sitting. "Why are you even here, Derek? They don't have UPS or email in Europe?"

"We have to sign the papers on the same day, in front of the same witnesses, or I wouldn't be here," Derek said in a monotone. "Do you think this is easy for me?"

"You know what? I don't care. You told me I was your mate and because of that you had to be the other side of the planet from me. And whilst that might sound flattering in some ways, you know, having someone leave their home so I can have a stab at a 'normal' life, whatever that is, actually it felt like shit. But now I find you've come back for a bit of paperwork. So I guess your wolf got it wrong. You can exist on the same plane as me."

"Nothing's changed, Stiles. The pull to protect you, to be with you, is every bit as strong. Stronger maybe. But this has to be done. I need to sever all ties here. The only way was to come back."

"Because you get off on torturing me?"

"Don't," Derek's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Derek Hale. No. You have no right. Not after what you've done to me.

"After you ran away, I went off to college. I screwed around – yes, the vulgar definition. Think I was fucking my way through the entire campus at one point, until an intervention by Deaton. I just needed to stop thinking about you. I tried to forget you. Did everything I could to move on. Didn't work.

"And I'll say now what you've never had the guts to say; I love you, Derek. Did back then. Still do.

"I may have bounced from one lover to the next in a futile attempt to find someone who would make me forget you. But you know what I didn't do? I didn't run away. I stayed. I faced this crap. So who's the adult now, Derek?

"I had to stay here, with the people I love. Do you have any idea how hard this has been for me? To come back here every break? To visit with my dad? And Scott? Knowing the one person I really wanted to see wouldn't be here? Only his ghost. Everywhere his ghost. I tried to deal, Derek, I did.

"But you? You ran. And you're doing it again. You're going back to – wherever; I don't even know – and you don't give a shit about how any of this affects me. You swan in, swan out. Making a lie of the 'must have distance and water between us' excuse. But you won't try to make this work. Why, Derek. Why won't you even try? Am I not worth it?"

When there was no response from Derek, Stiles stood up shakily and turned to make his way back to the Jeep. Derek had gone. And, he realised, so had the feeling he'd had that had alerted him to Derek's presence.

Three years of fighting against this attraction had come to nothing. It felt to Stiles as though neither of them had ever left Boyce's yard. And he, for one, never would.

He knew then what he had to do. He climbed into his car and drove back to the animal clinic.

* * *

><p>Morning surgery was in full swing when Stiles parked up and entered the waiting room. He was surprised to see Scott sitting behind the counter.<p>

"Stiles! Hi! When did you get ba…"

"Hi, Scott," Stiles acknowledged as he opened the gate in the counter and pushed past it, ignoring Scott's confused cries of protest.

Throwing open the door to the consulting room, Stiles stepped in, startling Deaton, an older woman and a small black dog.

"Stiles?" Deaton queried, moving quickly around the exam table to intercept the man.

"Tell Derek, - Oh, hello Mrs Shelby. Twinkle poorly again? Perhaps Mr Shelby should stop feeding him candy?" He re-focused on the vet, "Tell Derek to fuck off. Excuse my French, Mrs Shelby. Tell him I _never_ want to see him, hear him or have any contact with him in this lifetime or any other. Tell him to take his house and stuff it. Sideways. Tell him that if I so much as feel a hair on the back of my neck twitch, I will arm myself with wolfsbane bullets. Chris Argent will be happy to oblige, I'm sure.

"And, I'm sorry, but as much as I've always enjoyed coming to see you, doc, this is the last time. I won't be back. If my dad didn't live next door to Mrs Shelby here, I wouldn't set foot in Beacon Hills ever again. Thank you for everything you've done for me up to now, but my sanity requires that I cut myself off from all things Derek-related completely."

He turned to leave and heard Deaton call his name again. He didn't turn back but stopped in the doorway for a moment and said, "Tell Derek I love him. I'm sorry he never felt the same."

As he closed the consulting room door behind him, he heard Mrs Shelby say, "He's gay? The sheriff's son is gay?"

Scott, who of course had heard every word, was staring at him as though he'd just euthanized Mrs Shelby's dog with his bare hands.

"Yes, Scott. Derek. But don't worry, Derek just destroyed my life and dumped me. Again. But nothing happened between us so you can take that look of horror off your face. He's back for a few days just to make me feel even worse, before he disappears to Europe for good – if you can believe anything that comes out of his mouth.

"Now I'm going to find a bar that's open and drink it dry. Come and find me when you're done here if you think you can bear more than a moment in my company, because I must be a horrible person."

He pushed past a stunned Scott and headed out to the Jeep, only dimly aware that a packed waiting room of pets and their owners were looking at him open mouthed.


	6. Chapter 6: Full Disclosure

**Chapter 6: Full Disclosure**

"Stiles!"

Stiles looked up from his whiskey chaser and narrowed his eyes. Lydia. Lydia was in Riley's Sports and Pool Bar. In her five inch Christian Louboutin's. Could the day get any weirder?

"I saw the blue bone-shaker in the parking lot," she said as she leant over to air-kiss him three times.

"Yeah, they take a dim view of bringing cars into the bar."

"I see they let you keep your sense of humour at UCI," Lydia quipped as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair opposite.

"Why are you here, Lydia, um, not that's it's not lovely to see you."

"Well, I could say that I was just passing but we both know you won't believe that."

"Hardly."

"Scott phoned me." She smiled almost defiantly.

Stiles groaned.

"Oh, don't blame him for telling me what happened at Deaton's this morning. I'd have heard eventually from one of the two dozen other people in the waiting room who all heard you say you loved Derek. Hale, I presume?"

Stiles nodded and groaned again.

"Always knew you had good taste," Lydia winked at him. He smiled at that.

"Look, sweetie, men are shallow, hurtful creatures who will trample your heart as soon as look at you. That's just the way of the world. Men are bastards."

"Um, man here, Lydia. Wanna dial back the hate?"

"Oh, I don't mean you, silly. You're not one of them."

"Thanks for that, Lydia. And I didn't think it was possible to feel any worse!"

"I'm not surprised you feel bad if you're drinking _that_." She indicated the whiskey with a slight nod of her head, then lowered her voice conspiratorially, "and how did you even get served? They know who you are, right? And how old …?"

"Sometimes people do the weirdest things when your dad's the local sheriff," Stiles whispered back, "Besides, only three days to go."

"Do you think I can get a Chardonnay spritzer here?" Lydia asked him in all seriousness.

"Lydia, sweetheart, you're priceless. C'mon, let's move my attempt to drown my sorrows, and hopefully the rest of me, to somewhere that has upholstered seats."

He dropped some bills on the table and waved cheerily at the older woman behind the bar as he stood up. Lydia stood too and, to his surprise, threw her arms around his neck.

"I don't like to see you like this," she whispered. Then she stepped away and turned towards the door. "We should get an early lunch. Come with me."

Before Stiles had had time to register what was happening, he found himself sitting opposite Lydia in a booth in Beacon Hills' most upmarket Italian restaurant. Over mixed olives and tear 'n' share garlic bread, Lydia had managed to convince Stiles to tell her everything about him and Derek.

Stiles found that the more he talked the more he wanted to talk, wanted to explain. He needed someone to know how he felt. Somehow, saying it out loud felt like validating it. That it had been real, that he hadn't imagined either what had happened, or the strength of his feelings.

And telling someone was like drawing a line on a page. Ruling off the past so a new chapter could begin, he told himself.

Lydia wasn't always the easiest person to talk to, and was easily distracted when she lost interest, but now she was exactly what he needed, a sympathetic ear who knew about werewolves and who was actually on his side. He couldn't imagine being able to talk about what had happened between him and Derek like this to Scott. The thought saddened him.

When Stiles had exhausted his conversation, and himself, Lydia reached her hand across the table and grasped one of his.

"I never knew. You were different just before we graduated and I thought it was the stress of exams, and graduation, and choosing colleges. I never knew about Derek. I'm sorry."

"No-one knew. Well, Deaton did. I don't think there's much he _doesn't_ know."

"I wish you'd told me," Lydia murmured, giving his hand a squeeze.

"I wish I had," Stiles replied honestly, "not that there was much to tell, really. But, yeah, I wish I had said something back then."

Releasing his hand, Lydia said brightly, "So, are you going with the Tiramisu as usual or can I tempt you with the Amaretto cheesecake?"

* * *

><p>The next morning, as Stiles shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast, his father looked up from his paper.<p>

"Saw Mrs Shelby yesterday," the sheriff said slowly.

"Yeah?" Stiles said affecting disinterest, concentrating on pouring his coffee.

"She asked me if I knew that my son was going around telling everyone he was gay. What made her think that, I wonder?"

Stiles sighed. "I'm guessing it's because of what happened at Deaton's clinic yesterday. Mrs S was there with Twinkle. What did you say to her?" Stiles asked as he slipped into a chair, not looking up from his mug.

"I told her that was impossible. I told her, my son would never have said that he was gay. I said she must have misheard because my son is definitely not gay; he's bisexual."

Stiles nearly choked on his coffee. "You did? Way to go, dad!"

He smiled at his father warmly. His orientation hadn't ever been a topic of conversation between the two of them, but his father had known since at least his freshman year at college.

"I nearly said, 'my son's not a convicted felon like yours, who beats his lady friend and can't hold down a job' but I didn't. Mrs S does denial like no-one I've ever met. She still won't have it that Baxter is feeding that yappy mutt of hers candy bars."

"Yeah, I feel sorry for Twinkle. It never stood a chance from the moment they let the grandkids pick its name."

"So, son, Twinkle and his dysfunctional family aside, anything you want to share with your old man before he goes off to protect and serve?"

"You'll hear it anyway so… Okay, well back before I went to Irvine, I kinda fell for Derek Hale…"

"_The_ Derek Hale?" his father asked, his brows drawn together.

"Know another? Yes, Derek, the erstwhile murder suspect. Anyway, he said he felt the same – no, don't even! Nothing happened, okay. It was all above board and boring. Derek said I was too young, so he left."

"Wait, when he disappeared so suddenly. That was because of you?"

"That's what he said. And that was that. Except it wasn't." Stiles stopped talking and swirled the remaining coffee around in the bottom of his mug.

"Son?"

"He's back. Derek. In Beacon Hills. Now. Says he has some, um, business here then he's returning to Europe. For good this time."

"He's been in Europe all these years?"

"Yeah. Couldn't get far enough away from me it seems. Hell of a boost for my ego. Not. I mean, he said he wanted to be with me but then he goes to Europe so he couldn't have, right?"

"I'm sorry, Stiles. You could have told me, you know?"

"What was to tell? That I'd fallen for a guy who said he felt the same, I think, but couldn't bear to be on the same continent as me. Nothing happened between us and nothing was going to happen. It was a non-event."

"But you didn't want it to be a non-event?" his father probed gently.

"No. No I really didn't. But I wasn't given a choice."

"And now?"

"Same old, same old."

"But you've seen him? Derek? Recently?"

"No. Not really. I've heard him. And Deaton – he's like Derek's go-to guy – well, Deaton gave me a message from him. Birthday greetings you might call it. I told him what he could do with it."

"I'm sorry, son."

"Nah, water under," Stiles shrugged expansively.

"Really? Or maybe …"

"You don't miss much, do you, old man?"

"They wouldn't pay me the big bucks if I wasn't damn good at my job. Oh, that's right, they don't pay me the big bucks!" The sheriff smiled sadly at his son.

"Okay, dad, here's the deal. I told Lydia all this yesterday so I should catch you up." Stiles drew in a deep breath and stared intently into his coffee mug. "For some bizarre reason that I can't fathom, I am in love with Derek Hale and have been since before he did his little disappearing act.

"Nothing and no-one since has changed that fact. Believe me, I've tried. I'm still in love, and now I don't think I'll ever feel differently. But Mr Hale has decided to fall on his sword and run for the hills. Yeah, um, I didn't think through that mixed metaphor.

"Well, anyway, to hear him tell it, I'm too young and…well, I'm too young so he removed himself from North America to give me a shot at a 'normal' life." The fingers of one hand made air-quotes.

"Now he's back for a few days and he wants me to accept, um, an extravagant, very expensive birthday present and I've refused it."

"You're sure?"

"Yep. I'm not interested, dad. Derek won't stay, so, if I can't have him, I don't want anything to remind me of him. I went to Deaton yesterday to tell him to tell Derek to go to Hell and to take his gift with him. The waiting room was full, and Scott was there, so the whole town probably knows by now. Oh, and I guess that means you'll hear about the house."

"House?"

"Yeah, dad. The gift Derek wants to give me for my 21st? Well," Stiles looked up and shrugged apologetically, "it's the Hale house and grounds, and some money."

His father blinked at him. "Run that past me again?"

"My birthday present from Derek is his house and some money to fix it up. Deaton has the legal papers for us both to sign to make it official. I told him to stick it."

"Sounds like there was more between you …"

"You'd think! Yeah, I wish! But no, dad. Only ever words. As much as I wanted there to be more. Now Derek says he wants to cut all ties here, so he wants me to have the house. He doesn't get that I don't need reminders either."

"So that's why you went to Deaton's?" his father asked quietly.

"Yeah. I made it clear I didn't want anything from Derek. I made a bit of a scene. But I'm not sorry. I needed to put an end to this. A proper end."

"You want me to arrest Hale on some trumped up charge and throw his butt in the cells overnight?"

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, if I could get arrested at the same time and get thrown in the same cell. No, sorry. Look, dad, this Derek thing? It's over. Like it should have been three years ago. Like it was until yesterday."

"I hear you, Stiles," his dad said with a sigh, as he stood and started to clear his breakfast things away, "but don't go taking any polygraphs."


	7. Chapter 7: Persona Non Grata

**A/N: Never sure if it's a good idea to interrupt the story but wanted to say big THANK YOU to everyone who has been so kind to review or fave/follow. Means a lot guys, thanx.**

**Also, possible triggers in this chapter for depressive thoughts and inappropriate self-medication. And a fair bit of swearing. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Persona Non Grata<strong>

After his father had left for work, Stiles dosed the dishwasher and switched it on, then sat at the kitchen table to text Scott.

**To Scott:**

_Hey. Sry abt ystdy. U wanna meet up? Will xplain over coffee. :)_

Then he sent two more texts:

**To Lydia:**

_Thx 4 ystdy. Have told dad. Abt DH not ww! He was chilled like u said. XxXx_

**To Dr Deaton:**

_I'm very sorry about yesterday. It was wrong of me to disrupt your work like that. Sorry. But I meant what I said. I won't be in touch again so thank you for everything. Take care, kind regards, Stiles Stilinski_

Next, he went out to the Jeep with an old milk carton full of water to top up the windshield washer bottle. Just as he was about to close the hood, the neighbour's front door opened and somebody stepped out. Stiles looked over and called out, "Morning Mrs Shelby," and waved as he normally would.

Mrs Shelby glanced at him briefly, then very deliberately turned away and continued to her car. Her usual greeting and enquiry after his father's health, which she seemed to worry about almost as much as Stiles, were notable by their total absence.

Stiles stood and watched the Shelby's grey Toyota pull out of the drive in amazement. This was the first time Mrs Shelby had snubbed him since she'd falsely accused him of being responsible for the toilet paper in her roses when he was eight.

He shrugged, slammed the hood down on the Jeep and walked back to the house checking his phone as he went. No messages. He threw the milk carton in the trash, grabbed his backpack and his hoodie, and headed back out to the car.

He drove down to the gas station to pick up a local paper to see what he'd been missing since he'd been away. It was a bit of a ritual with him every time he came home, even though the town's municipal website was usually better informed.

Baxter Shelby's blue Ford truck was parked at a gas pump as Stiles pulled up in a space by the front entrance. Stiles reached the automatic doors just as the man himself was exiting.

"Hi, Mr Shelby. How's it going?"

The man stopped and gave Stiles a long, hard look before marching purposely over to his truck without a word.

"And a good morning to you, too," Stiles mumbled under his breath with a sigh.

He hardly dared greet Donny, the kid behind the till, for fear of yet another cold shoulder.

"Hi, Donny, how's it going?" Stiles feigned nonchalance.

Donny beamed back at him, "Hi, Mr Stilin... um, Stiles. Yeah, fine, thanks. You?"

"Yeah, good, thanks." Stiles picked up a paper from the display and held out the money. It might have been Stiles' imagination that Donny's hand lingered on Stiles' a little longer than was strictly necessary to take the bills from him, but the continual grin and the near-caress of his hand as Donny gave him his change was certainly not.

"Hope you can stay home for a bit," Donny mumbled, his neck flushing a salmon pink, "Your dad likes it when you're home."

"Yeah, I can't stay," Stiles shrugged apologetically and headed for the door as quickly as he could. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too. Oh, and Happy Birthday for Friday," Donny called after him.

"Thanks," Stiles hollered back over his shoulder as he fled the store, practically jogging back to the Jeep.

By mid-morning Stiles had finished all his chores and was sitting in the new, sterile, coffee shop in town wondering what to do with the rest of his day. He was already dreading the next four weeks and was wondering if he could find a job locally for the duration. He'd noted a couple of suitable vacancies in the small ads of the local paper, but nothing he felt very inspired by. Nothing that would seriously distract him.

He pulled out his phone, convinced that he must have missed the melodic ping that alerted him to incoming messages. He hadn't. His in-box was still empty. He fired off another text.

**To Scott:**

_Hey. U there?_

Then he stared at his cinnamon Americano.

This is exactly why he didn't like coming home. He had too much time on his hands. Too much time to think. He couldn't stop himself from going over things in his head. He found himself analysing the events and conversations of the day before, replaying them over and over, and editing them to have better outcomes, until he thought he was going mad. Not for the first time he seriously regretted that his brain didn't come fitted with an 'off' switch.

And then he thought of the Shelby's and Donny. Was there anyone in Beacon Hills who didn't now think he was gay? Or maybe the Selby's had just worked out that there were werewolves in town. Hadn't he mentioned wolfsbane yesterday? Dammit! He could hear a familiar, unwanted voice in his head complaining, 'Stiles, you're an idiot!'

Downing the remains of his coffee in one gulp, he pushed up from his seat and headed back to the Jeep. What to do now? What to do now?

It was too early for lunch and he really didn't fancy strolling aimlessly around the mall, avoiding both people he knew and thoughts that he'd rather not be thinking. Riley's was tempting because it offered the potential for alcohol-induced oblivion, but the odds of even the most accommodating of bar staff turning a blind eye to the sheriff's son getting rat-arsed before lunch were so long as to give Pie a run for its money.

Stiles checked his phone again before putting the Jeep in gear and pointing it in the direction of the discount liquor store on the far side of town, the one none of his friends or neighbours ever frequented.

Arriving at the store, Stiles flicked his phone on yet again. Nothing. He sent another text.

**To Scott:**

_U OK? :(_

Ten minutes later he was back in the Jeep, with two bottles of Jack, a large bottle of cola and a small pack of disposable party cups.

The party cups should have been the most embarrassing thing about the purchase, but actually what had made Stiles really squirm was the look of total disbelief he got from the store clerk when he had handed him his fake ID. Too late, he had recognised the clerk from Beacon Hills High where he had been in the year above Stiles. The guy hadn't called him on it, so no harm done, and it's not like Stiles wouldn't be legal in two days, but the humiliation factor completely trumped the party cups with their pink flowers and unicorns design.

Stiles knew where his traitorous Jeep would take him; didn't even bother getting angry with the car for its bad decision-making, as he parked up and surveyed the sign in front of him: "Beacon Hills Preserve."

Stiles, Jack, coke and party cups found their way onto the dilapidated porch of the Hale house, where they spread themselves out under the remaining roof of the blackened portico.

Before long Stiles was feeling maudlin. It was a necessary phase between pleasantly tipsy and a level of happy drunkenness that numbed all the bad feelings, before unconsciousness made its welcome appearance. He was actually aiming for the numbness just short of passing out today, but he had a way to go yet. He abandoned his paper cup in favour of the bottle in his eagerness to reach drunken nirvana.

For something to do, he checked his phone again and didn't bother to try for surprise when his in-box remained empty. Not even a message trying to sell him something or an offer to pursue an insurance claim on his behalf. Really? He was that unpopular?

He thought of texting Allison with an 'I'm worried something has happened to Scott' message, but that wouldn't be strictly true. He suspected Scott was angry with him and he really didn't want to explain the reason behind that to Allison.

He tried playing Sudoku on his phone but the alcohol had made his fingers impossibly fat and he kept missing the keys. He threw the phone down in disgust. Even his phone was against him!

The more he thought about it, the more he realised that it wasn't just his phone and his stupid car that were out to get him; life was ganging up on him too.

First his ADHD. Still affecting his life. Most kids grew out of it. But not him. What was that all about? Could he not catch a break?

And then his mom dying. Fair much? He tried not to dwell on that.

Then he never grew up into the Iron Man physique that his peers seemed to have acquired effortlessly. Had nature not seen the blueprint for attractively muscled male bodies? And why did he get issued with skin that had only just enough pigment to stop him from being transparent? That just added another layer of ridicule.

And what was it with him being bisexual? On the face of it, that ought to get you double the choice of partners. But, in his rather extensive experience, he had found that straight girls and gay guys didn't seem very comfortable dating guys who might stray across the median strip at any time. Fate had not done him any favours there.

Of course, the thought of potential partners naturally led Stiles to think of a certain werewolf. Dammit!

And yeah, werewolves! Why had life decided to throw supernatural creatures at him? Was his life not bad enough? But no, he had to deal with his best friend becoming a werewolf. Okay, so Scott probably got the raw end of that particular deal. But who had had to do all the research and protect his friend from leaving a bloody swathe through the residents of Beacon Hills on his first full moon? Did the Powers That Be know how hard it was to handcuff your best friend to a radiator and listen to his cries?

And then, why, oh, why, would nature make a super-hot, 'people-swoon-at-my-feet', ex-alpha werewolf from an illustrious wolfie lineage find his bond-mate in Stiles? Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller anyone? He could almost imagine a group of Ancient Greek Gods sitting in the clouds having a really good belly-laugh at that!

Worse, he had fallen madly, truly, deeply and irrevocably head-over-heels in love with said drop-dead gorgeous werewolf – and ohmygod, he's turning into a teenage girl.

Another slug of Jack made Stiles grimace. He felt slightly nauseous.

"Fuck you!" he shouted up to the Greek Gods as they chortled away at him. "What do you want from me?"

They didn't answer, except to laugh some more and possibly rustle some leaves in an adjacent bush for some reason.

"I **hate** you! I wish I was dead, you fucking bastards. I hope you're happy now. You've fucked up my life so much. I **love** him. I'm in love with a werewolf who **hates** me and who I'll never see again. Why did you do that to me? What could I possibly have done in just 20 years, well, okay, nearly 21, to piss you off so royally? You don't punish murderers like you punish me. Why?

"He says I'm his bond-mate. And that's super-rare. It's like **real** love, on a leap year, in a comet's tail. I'm his bond-mate but he's going away again because he says I'm too young. But I'm not. And I love him **soooo** much.

"Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you just **kill** me already?"

Stiles collapsed sideways on the decking, murmuring, "Just let me die, just let me die," before he slid into a drunken stupor, missing the happy numbness phase completely. If he had still been capable of conscious thought he may have railed against the Greek Gods for cheating him out of his happy drunk time.

Stiles was unaware when the bushes rustled some more and Chris Argent stepped into the clearing.


	8. Chapter 8: Hunters

**Chapter 8: Hunters**

Stiles woke up feeling hugely confused and with a headache that suggested to him that he had been the victim of a vicious mugging. Baseball bats had probably been involved. He tried to sit up and groaned when the room moved more quickly than the tiny chalk balls in his inner ear.

And he didn't recognise the room at all. Huh?

"You're awake," came a concerned, vaguely familiar female voice to his left.

He struggled to focus his eyes and marshal his brain cells.

"Allison? What are you doing here?" Stiles croaked, wondering why his mouth tasted like it had been used as a receptacle for decomposing bat droppings.

"Um, I live here?" she offered tentatively, smiling shyly.

"You do?" Stiles refocused on the walls. Nope, definitely not his bedroom.

"Yeah. You're in the spare room at my house."

"I am?"

"Dad found you at the Hale…um, in the woods and bought you back here."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." His memory was beginning to return. He sort of wished it wasn't.

"It's okay. And your dad knows that you're safe. Don't worry."

"Oh. Did you have to tell my dad?" There was no way he wanted his dad to know he'd bought alcohol locally. Stiles' life might be blighted, but the guy at the liquor mart didn't deserve to get into trouble.

"We had to tell him where you were or he would have worried," Allison said, her face wrinkling with concern.

"He's at work. He's on days. Wouldn't have noticed I was gone."

"Um, Stiles. That was yesterday," Alison said gently.

"Yesterday?" No, this was the gods messing with him again. Had to be.

"Dad found you about lunchtime yesterday. You've been out ever since. Um, I think you had a little too much to drink." She dipped her head nervously.

"No shi…No kidding. So, um, how long was I, um, out?"

"It's nearly six now. I was just going to get Scott to text your dad again."

"Six hours?" Stiles tried to process this information. "Um, that's not so bad. I guess."

"Six o'clock in the evening of _Thursday_. You've been out nearly 30 hours," Allison informed him sadly.

"Wha…" Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You mean I've lost a whole day and a half? How come? I've been drunk before but…"

"We had to get a doctor in when we couldn't rouse you – oh don't worry, he's a hunter friend so all discretion and stuff. He said you'd drunk too much, too quickly, and you probably weren't used to it. And on top of your ADHD medication you kind of, um, shut down. But he said your vitals were fine and you would sleep it off, though he told us what to look out for in case you got worse. You threw up when dad found you or you'd be in hospital now with alcohol poisoning."

"Oh my god! Your dad must think I'm a horrible person!"

"Yeah, you'd think," Allison said suddenly smiling broadly and showcasing her dimples, "but he was just concerned about you. He, um, he heard what happened at Deaton's. I think he might feel sorry for you." Her smile was gone.

Stiles groaned. "I'm so sorry, Allison. I just wanted some time out from … well everything."

"We figured."

"Does my dad know? That I was drinking?"

"No, don't worry. He thinks you stayed over at Scott's. Like old times."

"Scott must hate me," Stiles moaned as he tried to focus his eyes on the ceiling.

"No, silly. But I think he was, um, a little hurt that you didn't tell him. About you and … Derek." Allison's voice had dropped to an embarrassed whisper.

"There was nothing _to_ tell, honestly, Allison. Before he went away, Derek," Stiles faltered over the name, "Derek said I was his bond-mate – like I should have known what that meant. Then he said I was too young for him to ever consider, um, whatever… And he left and that was that. He wasn't supposed to come back."

"But before he went?" the woman asked apologetically, fixing him with an enquiring stare.

"Nothing happened. Just words between us. Nothing really. And nothing I wanted to even think about, much less share. I just wanted to forget. Didn't work out that way, but that's what I was going for."

"Oh. Did he not…? When you said 'bond-mate', I thought… So, what? He didn't feel the same?" Allison said quietly, her sympathy palpable.

Stiles huffed and his head pounded a little harder in response.

"That would have been easier. But no, he said all the things you want to hear. Well, most of the things. Right up until the, 'we can't be together for your own good' speech."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Stiles. I can see why you didn't say anything. It must have been difficult for you."

"I never realised just how difficult it would be," Stiles mumbled, mostly to himself.

"And no-one knew?"

"Deaton. Deaton knew," Stiles sighed. "Derek went to him for advice about… this …bond thing between us. There's some sort of werewolf lore covering this kind of thing apparently. But I don't think anything happens in Beacon Hills that Deaton doesn't know about. I like the guy, but he can be seriously spooky."

"It would probably be better if you didn't tell Scott that his boss knew all this time. He's feeling a little left out as it is," Allison observed sheepishly.

"Oh my god! I didn't mean to cut him out of the loop. Just didn't want to think about it myself, really. So that's why he didn't answer my texts? He's pissed off with me."

"He's a little hurt that you didn't tell him. But I think he's feeling a little better knowing that you threw up in front of my dad, barely missing his new boots." Allison's smile was mischievous but kindly too.

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?" Stiles moaned as he threw an arm over his eyes. "Your dad's gonna kill me."

"Um, Scott said you mentioned my dad. At Deaton's. About getting wolfsbane bullets from him?"

Stiles arm dropped away and he blinked at the brunette sitting alongside him. "Oh god, Allison, I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't think. I was so upset…"

"Stiles, it's okay. Don't worry about it. Scott told everyone in the waiting room that Derek has an allergy to bucksthorn and you just got confused."

"Bucksthorn? That scrappy bush that looks like dogwood? Scott said that?"

"Well, his boss told him to tell everyone. Deaton told Mrs Ferris – she was one of those in the waiting room with that mangy cat of hers – well, he told her that you'd been waiting for Scott to finish work one day when Derek came in to ask Deaton about bucksthorn because he knows about the local wild plants. That's how you found out he had an allergy."

"Mrs Ferris? The whole state will know by now! Mrs Ferris gossips in her sleep."

"Yes, and Scott made sure everyone else in the waiting room knows about the bucksthorn too, so hopefully hunters won't get to hear that someone in Beacon Hills has a problem with wolfsbane…"

"Oh no, Allison, I never thought. If someone puts two and two together …"

"It's okay, Stiles. Dad knows what to say if anyone in the hunting fraternity asks and, um, … Derek's going away again, isn't he? So he'll be out of harm's way…"

Stiles looked blankly at her for a moment before he murmured, "Yeah, he's going away. Again. For good this time. I'll never see him ever again. Ever." He paused briefly and held Allison's gaze. He swallowed and said in a whisper, "I know it's crazy, but I love him. Always have, I think. Always will."

"I'm so sorry, Stiles. So sorry."

Stiles wanted to say, 'yeah, thanks', but the words got forgotten as he felt the hot press of tears behind his eyes.

Allison reached out and grasped his hand. She didn't say anything – what could she say? – but Stiles was grateful for the comfort she was giving him, as much as he was embarrassed to be needing it. And in that moment he thought he truly understood what Scott had seen in Allison back in High School.

* * *

><p>After three Tylenol, a groveling apology to Chris Argent, and heartfelt thanks to Allison, her father had driven Stiles home. The journey was awkward and mostly silent, but as they turned into the Stilinski neighbourhood, Allison's father suddenly said, "Stiles, I know I'm not the best person to offer you advice …"<p>

A little startled, Stiles looked round at the older man with open curiosity and noticed his neck and cheeks were flushed.

Chris continued, eyes fixed on the road ahead, "You know my stance on werewolves. And what I thought about Allison's relationship with Scott. And I don't know anything about you and Derek Hale. Not my business, I know.

"But, Stiles, love is something I do know a bit about, and I think it's something worth fighting for. I don't know if you know what a bond-mate is…?"

"Just what Derek told me," Stiles said quietly, "that it's like a soul-mate kinda deal."

"It's more than that, Stiles. It's a bit like swans."

"Swans?" Stiles repeated, dumbfounded.

"Swans pair for life. If one swan dies, then so does its mate. Broken heart. It's the same with bond-mates. When werewolves bond, it's for life. They tie their lives together. Like swans. But a werewolf's lifespan isn't as long as most humans enjoy, for reasons I'm sure I don't have to spell out. It's not a relationship to be entered into lightly."

"Yeah," Stiles muttered, "Derek said something of the sort. That by not doing the bonding thing I'd live longer. That it was a once in a lifetime thing for him but he wouldn't do that to me so he had to go away."

Chris drew in a breath noisily through his teeth.

"Stiles, all my family's knowledge about werewolf physiology suggests it's nearly impossible for a werewolf to stay away from their bond-mates until they're officially bonded. The pull to protect and bond with their chosen mate is stronger than the instinct that draws salmon to their spawning grounds. And it gets stronger over time. I'm surprised that Derek has been able to ... Three years is a long time."

The older man shook his head before continuing quietly, "Of course, there are risks to the werewolf if the bond-mate is human…"

Stiles mumbled, "Derek said if we, um, bonded, and then I left him, he would die." Then he added faintly, "But I wouldn't leave him. Not ever."

"Well, if you wouldn't leave him, and if you meant what you said when I found you yesterday, I think that maybe that kind of love is worth fighting for, don't you?"

He pulled the car to a halt and Stiles realised they were in front of his house, his Jeep parked up neatly at the edge of the yard.

"Don't put yourself in a 'what if?' situation, Stiles. 'What if I'd done this, said that, pushed harder, asked the difficult questions…?' Don't regret inaction. Even if things don't go the way you hope, it's better to know you've tried, than let an opportunity slip through your fingers."

Stiles wondered what opportunity Chris Argent regretted not acting on that had him speaking with such passion, despite his obvious discomfort, as he continued to stare into the distance.

"And alcohol? Never the solution. Just makes the problem worse. But I know you know that," Chris still hadn't looked at his passenger. "Sorry, Stiles, none of my business."

"No," Stiles said as he slowly got out of the car, "I appreciate the advice. Appreciate everything you've done for me. Really. Thank you. I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble."

"Forget it. I know you looked out for Allison back in the day. Never got a chance to thank you. But I know you kept her safe. Not saying she can't take care of herself but you had her back and I won't forget that."

"Um, thanks, Mr Argent."

"Chris. Stay safe, Stiles. And be happy."

And then Stiles was alone with his thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9: Catch You Later

**Chapter 9: Catch You Later**

Sheriff Stilinski was late getting off his shift and didn't make it home until gone eight that evening. Stiles was waiting for him with a selection of his favourite take-out menus.

"Inside job," his father said as he slumped into a chair at the table. "Without a confession I doubt we'll get a conviction. There're no obvious forensics. But it was one of the staff. No doubt in my mind."

Stiles set down a mug of skinny hot chocolate in front of his father and slipped into a chair opposite.

"You'll break them down. They'll be squealing before you know it."

His father gave him a wry smile, "Something tells me you're not that interested in the theft from 'Stanley's Discount Warehouse'. This about you and Scott? He seemed a little 'off' yesterday. You two had a falling out?"

"Misunderstanding," Stiles corrected. "But we're good. Or we will be. No, I wanted to ask you about mom. You and mom."

"Okay, so not Scott. This is about Derek, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles focused closely on his index finger as he ran it slowly back and forth along the edge of the table. "How did you and mom know? That you, um, wanted to be together?"

The sheriff shook his head sadly. "I can't tell you, son. When you know, you just know. But I thought that you and Derek, well, that it was over before it got started?"

"I don't want it to be. And something Chris Argent said to me…."

"Argent?"

"Yeah, um, Scott was talking with Allison; Chris started talking to me," Stiles lied, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

"What did you talk about? Must have been pretty important."

"He said that sometimes things are worth fighting for. I think he's right."

"Stiles," his father sighed, "I can't tell you what to do. I don't know that there's a right answer anyway. All I can say is to do what you think is right. You've done a lot of hair-brained things over the years Stiles, and I'm sure I don't know the half of it. But I think your instincts are sound and you've never put a foot wrong on anything important. Hell, you're at UCI. That should tell you something."

Stiles smiled wanly at his father.

"And Stiles, you should know that, whatever you decide, I'll support you."

"Thanks, dad," Stiles mumbled.

"So, Chinese?" his father asked, a little too cheerily. "Scott said you were going to have pizza yesterday so I don't expect you want pizza again."

"No, actually, Italian would be great. You can never have too much pizza!" Stiles said smiling, knowing his father would prefer pizza and suddenly feeling very hungry himself.

"Spoken like a true Stilinski! You phone and I'll get the plates."

* * *

><p>Later that evening, when Stiles was online trying his best not to Google anything wolf-related, he heard a noise, or thought he did, beyond his bedroom window. The initial flash of euphoria that he got at the thought that Derek was there was immediately doused when in the next instant he realised that he hadn't felt that prickling feeling that he always had when Derek was near.<p>

So not Derek.

Scott then.

"It's open, Scott," he said quietly, knowing he would be heard.

Scott eased the window up and clambered over the sill, closing the window behind him.

"Hi. Guess I owe you an apology," Stiles told his friend remorsefully.

"No, you're alright. Allison told me. Nobody knew. I get that. You didn't want to deal." Scott hitched a shoulder dismissively.

"Nothing to deal. Turns out I'm Derek's wolf-mate but I'm not a wolf and I'm too young. So nothing was ever going to happen."

"But Allison says you both wanted, um, to be together?" Scott looked uncomfortable, pulling a face like someone had left off the sugar in his lemonade.

"I think so. Me? Yeah. More than anything. Still do. Him? I guess his actions speak louder than his words."

"Sorry, man."

"Thanks. I have to move on. Not that I haven't tried. Can we talk about something else? Sorry."

"No, of course. Subject closed. But if I see Derek I may just have to kick his alpha-arse on your behalf," Scott informed him in solidarity.

"No, it's okay. I don't want to have to feel guiltier about you than I already do. Besides he's not an alpha anymore."

"Dude! I can totally take him –wait! Derek's a beta now?"

"No. An omega. The penance for falling for a human kid," Stiles said unhappily.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. A pack in Europe let him in as an omega as a favour they owed his family."

Scott whistled.

"So, how's college been?" Stiles asked, signalling the end of that topic.

"Let's not go there either," Scott pulled a face. "So, how does it feel to be 21 tomorrow?"

* * *

><p>The morning of his 21st birthday dawned brightly enough outside, but inside Stiles had the feeling that a cloud had descended to hover over him threateningly.<p>

He had enjoyed catching up with Scott the previous evening, and putting their friendship back to where it had been before he had mouthed off in Deaton's clinic. But with the knowledge that his relationship with Scott was back on track, came the realisation that so was his non-relationship, or whatever it was, with Derek. He'd vented, but nothing had changed.

Stiles wanted to stay in bed, try to go back to sleep, and just not have to deal with the day. But he knew he couldn't. So he made a point of getting up early enough to spend some time with his father over breakfast.

He opened cards and allowed his father to fix his coffee in a change to the normal routine. He smiled and chatted and even laughed. But his heart wasn't in it and he thought his father noticed, although he didn't comment on it.

His phone was ringing with texts and calls from friends in Irvine and Beacon Hills and from his small dispersed family. He managed to sound cheerful and positive, thinking to himself that if ever a performance deserved an Oscar it was his this morning.

He wasn't looking forward to his party tonight. It was a surprise party that Lydia was organising for him. Officially, he didn't know about the party and he was telling everyone that his dad was treating him to a meal at The Old Barn, the up-market restaurant just out of town.

Unofficially, he had known about the party since Scott had first mentioned it by mistake, and then sworn him to secrecy, three months before. He suspected that Scott had actually forgotten he'd let the cat out of the bag because yesterday he'd asked him if he could bring him back a menu from The Old Barn because he was thinking of taking Allison there after her exams.

But before the party, Stiles had something important to do. The moment the sheriff left for the station, Stiles left the house. He had a strange feeling, which considering what he was about to do was hardly surprising. But he thought about Scott for some reason, like the feeling he'd had when Scott had been on his roof. He smiled, thinking he must just be reminiscing about the good time he'd shared with his best friend the evening before.

He shook his head to clear it, climbed into his Jeep and headed out.

* * *

><p>Once inside the ruined Hale building, noting sadly how much more dilapidated the interior had become over the years, Stiles sat at the bottom of the staircase and shouted Derek's name.<p>

He waited a few minutes and shouted again.

He was about to shout for a third time when he felt Derek's presence. He was surprised to find that he knew exactly where Derek had shown up outside the house; he could pinpoint precisely where on the periphery of the clearing the werewolf was standing.

"Derek," he said at normal volume, trying to keep his voice from wavering, "I know you're outside. I need to tell you something. Come in."

Then suddenly he became aware that Derek was now standing at the end of the passageway behind where he was sitting. He wouldn't be able to see him unless he turned around. He remained facing forwards.

"Derek, I've made a decision," Stiles said calmly, as if discussing the weather, "You won't like it, but I can't help that. I can't be responsible for your thoughts and actions, only my own.

"I have decided not to accept your kind offer of this house in exchange for assuaging your guilt at dumping me. If that's even the correct term for not starting anything with me in the first place."

Somehow Stiles knew that Derek was about to speak and anticipated him, "No, you'll listen to me. I was a kid then. I'm not now. Now _I_ get to tell _you_ how it will be.

"I have spent three unhappy years trying to pretend you don't exist. It didn't work and I can only assume that's because of some weird werewolf pairing hocus-pocus because it certainly wasn't for lack of effort on my part.

"Now, I could go back to Irvine in four weeks, take up my work placement and complete my studies, but I find I don't have the stomach for another minute of pretending that I'm not hopelessly in love with you.

"I know how bizarre that sounds; that I'm in love with someone who I don't really know, who I haven't seen in more than three years, who has done nothing but hurt me and who wants nothing to do with me. Oh, and who is a supernatural creature straight out of a comic book, or Grimm's fairy tales, or whatever.

"Logic says I should walk away. Except … I've tried that and I find that I can't.

"I know what I said before. But since then, well, something someone said to me made me think. And now I find I've had a change of heart. So…"

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his face before continuing, "This whole business started with you stalking me. So I've decided to return the favour.

"You may go back to Europe and try to hide from me. But I will track you down and become your second shadow like you were mine. I will haunt your peripheral vision, although admittedly not as surreptitiously as you managed, and I will dog your every step. No pun intended.

"I will spend the rest of my days tracking you down and following you. You know how good my research and internet skills are so don't doubt that I am capable of trailing you across continents.

"I hacked the Santa Barbara FBI office once, when I was still in high school, before I even knew about werewolves. The Feds never suspected that the file I placed in their records was a phoney until some intern queried the suspect's name. Maybe I should have gone with something less obvious, but I've always liked Wile E Coyote.

"Or perhaps it was the pet huskies, Lassie, Gus and Spencer, that I created for him that gave the game away. Seems even back then I had a weakness for members of the Canini tribe. There's a psych session in there somewhere, I don't doubt.

"Anyway, tracing a werewolf? Not a problem, believe me. I will become the monster to your Baron Frankenstein. I will be as tenacious as a Hobbit following a ring. A regular Sir Galahad on his quest for the Grail.

"You will always have the power to stop me. You just have to admit that you love me and agree to have me as your bond-mate. Because that is what I want and nothing else matters to me.

"So, now I'm giving you a head start. Lydia's organising a surprise party for me tonight. Yeah, yeah, not very surprisey if I know about it, but blame Scott for that. I'll act surprised so I don't spoil it for anyone.

"Tomorrow, I'll take it easy at first, then sort some stuff out – you know, let friends at UCI know that I won't be back. Sunday, I've promised to spend the day with dad.

"Then Monday morning, I'll come find you."

Stiles stood up, fighting the urge to turn and look at Derek. He took a deep breath and began to walk back out to his Jeep, calling over his shoulder, "Catch you later."


	10. Chapter 10: Surprise!

**Chapter 10: Surprise!**

Stiles parked his car on the deserted far edge of the town's municipal parking lot and took out his phone. He composed a text:

**To Lydia:**

_Not going bk 2 UCI. Told DH will follow him to Europe. I stalk him or he agrees 2b my m8. Only u & D know. Will tell others after I tell dad at meal 2nite. Spk soon, Xx_Xx

He wasn't surprised when his phone rang moments after he'd pressed the 'send' button.

"Lydia."

"Stiles, sweetie, are you sure? I mean, UCI? Your studies?"

"Yeah, Lydia, I'm sure. Since I made my decision I feel better. It's the right thing…hell, it's the only thing I can do."

"I sort of get that actually. Look, don't do anything until after tonight, um, after you celebrate your birthday with your dad. Oh, um, Happy Birthday by the way."

"Thanks, and yeah, I don't intend for anyone else to know until I've had a chance to tell dad. I'm _so_ not looking forward to that conversation," Stiles groaned.

"But you've told Derek?"

"Yeah, about half an hour ago. I'm still shaking."

"So, what, he popped round for a visit?" Lydia asked, not hiding her natural curiosity.

"No. Derek's made it quite clear he never intends to see me again. But I had other plans so I troubled the tiger in his lair. Well, went to the old Hale house and shouted for the tiger, um, wolf. Seems even after all these years he still lurks around the place though it's more ruin than house. There's a metaphor in there somewhere."

"The world of academia will be the worse for your romantic, if somewhat misguided, quest."

"Thanks," Stiles barked out a harsh laugh, "Look, Lydia, I know you said you had plans today. But perhaps tomorrow we could meet up? You know, before the gang gets together for what I'm sure will just be using belated birthday celebrations as an excuse for some underage, and some now legal, drinking?"

"Of course, sweetie. And I'm sorry I have things on today. You should have timed your birthday for the weekend!"

"I'm sure my mom would have loved to have held back another 24 hours!" Stiles laughed, happily now. "Especially if she'd known she'd have been doing _you_ a favour, Lydia!"

Lydia laughed, gave her apologies again for not being available and rang off.

Stiles smiled to himself as he jumped out of his car to go shopping.

* * *

><p>His trip to the mall had been a welcome distraction from the melodrama that was now his life. His plans had given him a focus that was tangible; a set of problems that he could figure out solutions to.<p>

Back at home, he showered and dressed for a party whilst trying not to look like he knew he wasn't dressing for a meal with his dad in a swanky restaurant. It was a delicate balancing act. He settled on a black tee under a blue plaid shirt with jeans in a black denim that looked smart without making him feel uncomfortable.

He was ready with hours to spare, but now he could concentrate on his plans to track a werewolf across the world. He began making lists, using several coloured pens, with sticky-note addendums, while he researched the cheapest routes to Europe and the cost of car hire there.

It was late afternoon when he sensed Scott on his roof. He knew it was Scott this time, no sudden thoughts of Derek; he knew better now. But he also hadn't thought that he had heard any sound from beyond his window. It was just that he had suddenly become aware of Scott's presence. He registered the weirdness of that for a brief moment, before abandoning that line of thought as he chalked it up to the 'back in Beacon Hills' effect.

"Hi, Scott," he called out, his back to the window.

A moment later the window opened and Scott dropped in. "Hey, dude. How did you know it was me? I wasn't even outside the window and I was like super wolf-stealthy."

"I did the math." Stiles said, deflecting, as he turned to his friend. "You're the only one using the window as a door these days."

"Yeah, but how did you even hear…Oh, Happy Birthday, dude!"

"Thanks, man," Stiles grinned, not least because he knew his best friend would now forget about his uncanny ability to detect him on his roof. Then, to Stiles' surprise, Scott grabbed him in a bear-hug and thumped his back almost ferociously, before releasing him quickly.

Stiles' grin broadened. "So, wanna check out that new game I bought down from Irvine? I'm crap at it so you stand a good chance of beating me."

"Um, no, another time?" Scott shrugged awkwardly.

"Sure, so what …"

"I need you to, um, what I mean is, perhaps we can go somewhere, get out of here for a bit?"

"Yeah, if you like. Dad's shift won't be over for a while and I'm all ready to go. Where did you have in mind? Because, I don't really want to go for a drink, um, not so early in the evening anyway." Stiles refrained from saying that the thought of ever taking another alcoholic drink turned his stomach. He'd swear off alcohol for good if he didn't know that at some stage in the middle of tonight's party – the one he shouldn't know about – he would find himself holding a cup of Lydia's punch.

"Yeah, no drink. Got that," Scott made a face to convey his heartfelt sympathy. "Let's blow." Scott turned briefly to the window before remembering the door and then trailed Stiles out of the house.

Outside, engine revving impatiently, was a low-slung Porsche in ink blue with shiny alloys. Jackson looked out with annoyance from the open driver's window.

"'lo Stiles. Get in. Oh, yeah, Happy Birthday."

Stiles was surprised. It was a bit early for the party. Yet here was his pumpkin coach. "Oh, hi, Jackson. Where are we going?"

"Yeah, like I'd tell you!" Jackson was his old cheery self.

Scott clambered into the back of the car, pulling the seat back for Stiles to ride shotgun.

The journey was nerve-wracking. Jackson was more grimly monosyllabic than usual and Scott was jittery, the way he got when he'd done something wrong and thought his mom had found out. Stiles was amazed that a little surprise party could make them so antsy.

They pulled into the driveway of Lydia's house and Stiles was baffled, then a little impressed, to see no other cars there and no signs that there would be a party that evening. He gave Lydia full credit for her ability to keep up the subterfuge.

Once out of the car, Jackson pointed down the side of the house to the entrance to the back yard.

"That way," he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"We're meeting up with Lydia?" Stiles asked, playing along.

"Yeah, she's in the pool house," Jackson snapped.

"O-kaaay."

Stiles noticed Scott was hanging back, looking anxious. "Scott?"

"Yeah? Um, I'll, um. Allison! I'll wait here for Allison." Stiles could feel relief flood off of his friend. It was almost palpable.

"Sure," he nodded, "catch you and Allison later."

"Yeah, laters."

"C'mon, Lydia doesn't like to be kept waiting," Jackson said redundantly, practically growling as he pushed past Stiles and strode down the path towards the pool house.

The venue struck Stiles as strange because it had always been locked up and out-of-bounds during every other party Stiles had attended there; the Martin's attempt to not add to the teenage pregnancy statistics.

As they reached the small one-room hut on the bottom terrace, Lydia stepped out to greet them. She was holding something in her hand that was smoking!

"Ah, you're here. Good," she said as she grimaced a small, tight smile and air kissed the space in front of Stiles.

"Lydia, what the hell is … Is that a smudge stick?" Stiles asked incredulously.

"Did you leave your nose at home? Of course it's a smudge stick," Lydia retorted brusquely.

"And your pool house needs cleansing because …"

"Look for yourself," Lydia stepped away from the doorway and gave Stiles a little push.

As he steadied himself just inside the door two things assailed him; a woody top note over the smell of the sage smudge stick that he recognised immediately as mountain ash, and the unmistakable prickling of his skin that he associated with Derek's presence.

He whirled round to see Lydia empting a bag of mountain ash across the threshold of the pool house door.

"Lydia? What…?"

"Intervention," she announced, one hand on her hip in emphasis. "You two need to sort yourselves out. Once and for all."

She gestured over Stiles' shoulder with a tilt of her head. He turned to look and could make out a familiar shadowy outline of surly shoulders sunken in the deeper shadow in the far corner of the hut. His former stalker was across the room, still lurking, still watching him, and he felt his pulse stutter.

"Both of you are miserable apart," Lydia continued flatly, "so we've bought you together to resolve this. If he wasn't a werewolf I'd be knocking both your silly heads together."

Stiles looked back at Lydia in amazement, his anger rising, his mouth opening to protest and curse at her. But he immediately forgot what he was about to say when he saw the other's standing around her. Jackson was at her elbow, of course, and Scott was just behind him. But there were others too. Allison, her father (Chris, why is Chris here?), Deaton, (Deaton? WTF?) Danny (Danny's back in town?) and, flanking Lydia across from Jackson, his own father.

"Dad?"

"I'm sorry, son. Derek," the Sheriff acknowledged the werewolf in the shadows. "Stiles, I didn't want to interfere. But Lydia's right; you both need to start acting like adults. Your 21st is as good a time as any. You can hate me tomorrow but tonight you end this, one way or another. And I meant what I said Stiles, I'll back your play, but I need to know you've thought about your game-plan."

"But…" Stiles went to step out of the room and found his foot hitting something. He looked down. Nothing but the line of mountain ash, which would impede werewolves but not humans. He put his foot out again and it definitely hit an obstacle; an invisible obstacle. "What the f…"

"Language!" barked his dad.

Lydia stepped closer. "I'm sorry, Stiles," she said not looking sorry at all, "I've had the mountain ash enchanted. There's a really delightful coven near Palo Alto… Well, anyway, neither you nor Derek can exit without the help of the other. If you both agree, you will be able to just brush away the mountain ash together and leave. But you both have to be 'of one mind' is how the witch explained it to me."

"I told you in confidence, Lydia," Stiles complained bitterly.

"Yes, but Scott already knew," at Stiles' confused look Lydia continued, "He came to yours this morning to wish you 'Happy Birthday' and got there just as you were leaving. He followed you to Derek's place. Heard what you said. He was worried for you. We're all worried for you. And your dad went to see Mr Argent about you and that's when Scott turned up to see Allison. Allison might have mentioned it to me, so of course… Anyway, none of us want you to leave. And we don't want you to be unhappy either. You need to get your shit together, boys.

"So, off you go. When you're ready, come and join us up at the house and we'll get the birthday celebrations started, or, you know, the commiseration wake. Your choice. Love you!"

"Let me out, Lydia!" Stiles demanded angrily.

Lydia moved forward until she was close enough for Stiles to touch her but for the mountain ash maintaining a barrier between them.

"FYI," Lydia said, her voice low enough that only Stiles and the werewolves could hear her," my birthday present to you is in the side table drawer. Enjoy!"

She smiled enigmatically, then pivoted on her ludicrously high heels, flicking her hair back as she began walking away.

"Happy Birthday!" she called out cheerfully.

"Lydia!" Stiles yelled after her, his panic drowning out his anger.

She ignored him as she took point to lead the small, sorry-looking band of people back up to the house.

Stiles cursed and turned away in frustration. And for the first time in more than three years, Stiles found himself looking into the eyes of Derek Hale.


	11. Chapter 11: Sleeping Dogs

**Chapter 11: Sleeping Dogs**

"Derek?" Stiles muttered, his mouth dry, in contrast to his suddenly sweaty palms.

"Your friends are meddling in things they don't understand," Derek stated darkly.

"Wait, that's what you're going with?" Stiles was incredulous. "Our lives are royally screwed and you're gonna bitch about my friends trying to help?"

"Covens, enchanted mountain ash? Magic never ends well. And they practically kidnapped me."

"Oh please! You're a werewolf! And I know from bitter experience that no-one gets _you_ to do something you don't want to do."

Derek turned away and went to stand near the large window that looked out over the terraces.

"They tricked me into coming here and then bought out the mountain ash to trap me," he complained.

"I'd be sure to sympathise if I even cared. I'm in the same boat, in case you hadn't noticed."

"So? What do you want to do about this?" Derek asked curtly.

Stiles sighed and slumped down onto the love seat in the centre of the room, rubbing his hands over his face.

"How the hell would I know? I had everything all sorted until this," Stiles moaned.

"Oh yes, drop out of college and destroy your future." Derek turned to face him. "No wonder your friends felt the need to intervene."

"Don't blame me for this," Stiles spat angrily, "You started this with your 'I can't be in the same sector of the galaxy as you' bullshit."

"It's not bullshit! You have no idea what coming back here has been like for me. Or the last three years."

"No, I don't. And whose fault is that?" Stiles threw his hands up in frustration and sunk further into the upholstery.

"You know why I went," Derek said quietly as he turned back to the window.

"No, actually, Derek, I don't, not really. I know you said it was my age and all this werewolf shit … Oh my god! Dad! I think Lydia mentioned werewolves in front of him. Everyone at the house knows about werewolves except dad. They better not say anything because if dad finds out…"

"Stiles! He knows."

"We have to warn them to say nothing… Wait! What?"

"Your dad knows. About werewolves. About me. About us."

"No, no he doesn't. I mean he knows about us – the nothingness that is us. But not about werew…"

"Yes he does," Derek cut in. "He found out three years ago, when he came to see me."

"Wha…? No. He doesn't know. Wait, he came to see you? What?" Stiles felt as though he was in the middle of an earthquake with nothing solid around him.

Derek dragged a garden chair over from near the door and positioned it in front of Stiles. He sat down on it and ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't sure if you knew that your dad came to see me," he said softly. "I thought probably not, but I didn't know for sure."

"How? What?" Stiles looked up into Derek's eyes desperately seeking some understanding, willing himself not to give in to free-fall panic.

"Okay, well remember the day after… back then," Derek began, "when you missed school and went looking for me?"

Stiles nodded numbly.

"Well, your dad got a call from the school and he was checking everywhere to find you. He saw you duck into Deaton's and then watched you leave. You'd seemed furtive. Upset too.

"Your dad wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know why you'd visited Scott's boss after waiting to make sure Scott wasn't there. You were acting suspiciously and missing school was a big thing for you.

"So, anyway, when there was a knock at Deaton's door, we thought you'd come back. I stayed out of sight again in the consulting room. But it wasn't you, it was your dad, so I slipped out and went back to the house."

"You were there? When I went to see Deaton that day?"

"Yes. Deaton was helping with my travel plans and smoothing things over with packs I would come into contact with before I got settled."

"Where? I mean, where did you settle?"

"France. I was in London for a while but the pack I belong to now, they live in the pine forests of Les Landes in Aquitaine, South West France. They're good people."

"Are you happy?" Stiles asked in a hushed voice.

"Honestly? I won't lie to you. No. Not happy. But I can manage there. I can't here."

"I miss you," Stiles breathed. "Please stay."

"Don't, Stiles. Nothing's changed."

"You're wrong. For one thing, you said dad knows about werewolves now. Um, how exactly? Did Deaton tell him?"

"No, I did, with Deaton's help. And a brief transformation on my part." Derek shrugged.

"Oh! I'd have paid good money to see that! How did he take it?"

"He drew his gun."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, but it was okay. Back in the clinic, when your dad started asking questions, Deaton knew he couldn't explain why you'd been to see him without involving me. Your dad wasn't going to go away so they both turned up at my house. I transformed and when your dad had calmed down I explained about werewolves, about my family. And about Kate. That's how Chris became involved."

"Allison's dad?"

Derek nodded. "Afterwards we went to see Chris and he explained about hunters. It was then I saw acceptance on your dad's face. Up to then I think he'd convinced himself he was hallucinating.

"I left for London then, but Chris and Deaton have kept your father in the loop. The three of them have kept a lid on all things supernatural since then."

"So when I told him about you and me the other day, he knew you were a werewolf then?"

"He knew all about us. About what happened three years ago," Derek confirmed.

"No!"

"Yes, I told him. I told him how I felt, explained about bond-mates and that I was leaving. Once or twice his hand went to his gun again, but when he knew I was going away he relaxed."

"Wait. All this time he knew and he didn't say anything?" Stiles sounded betrayed.

"What would he say, Stiles? Really? We're never going to do anything about the bond-pairing so what's the point of discussing it?"

"But…?"

"You didn't need a distraction from exams and colleges. Then you went away to Irvine so ..."

"Sleeping dogs?" Stiles said with a sad smile.

Derek flashed a tight grin, "Yeah, sleeping dogs."

The two men sat facing one another in silence. Several minutes past until Stiles had to fill the vacuum, which, as he was fond of telling people, nature abhors.

"We have to make this work Derek. I can't do this anymore."

"You know better than that Stiles," Derek muttered sadly.

"No, I don't. But let's assume you were right three years ago. Okay? You were right."

Derek nodded slowly wearing an expression that suggested he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"So," Stiles continued in a measured tone, "werewolves. Dad knows now and he's obviously coping with that. I still know about werewolves but I've managed a wolf-free life in Irvine for the last three years. As for chronology: well, I'm 21 now. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Stiles," Derek said gently, "21 isn't so old. The thing about bond mates is …"

"Yeah, I know," Stiles interrupted sharply, "You don't want to tie your life to mine so that you die when I get bored and leave you for a younger wolf."

"What? No! If you left me I'd want to die. I'd take a short while with you, however brief, over a long life in Aquitaine in a heartbeat if that was possible. But it's not. Because it's you, Stiles. You're the one at risk."

"Me at risk? Wait, you're not worried about me leaving you?" Stiles was feeling he was back at the epicentre of an earthquake. "I don't understand. You left because you didn't want to tie your lifeline to mine. Because you'd die when I left you. Which I wouldn't, by the way. But I get it."

"No, you don't get it. _You're_ the one at risk. Being a bond mate ties you to me like it ties me to you. Our lifelines become irretrievably linked unless the bond is broken. So if anything ever happens to me, it happens to you too. Don't you see that?"

"Yeah. When you die, I die too. Yeah so, what you said, about a short time with you rather than a long time without you. Yeah, right back at you." Stiles grumbled.

"But I'm a werewolf, Stiles…"

"No sh…"

"No, listen!" Derek slapped his hand down angrily on the arm of the love seat next to where Stiles was sitting, startling him. "I won't live as long as you. Werewolves don't make old bones. Look at the rest of my family.

"If it's not hunters, it's inter-pack disputes, or a beta challenging for leadership or a lone omega looking for trouble. And when that happens, it won't just be my life that will be over; yours will be forfeit too. You see now?"

"But…"

"No 'buts', Stiles. That's the reality. As much as I might want to have the sort of relationship that my parents had, it's never going to happen. I won't condemn you to a short life full of werewolf in-fighting and challenges. I won't do it Stiles."

Derek sat back in his chair and regarded Stiles with a look of finality, his old arrogance evident.

In a small voice Stiles asked, "Is that what it's like, in France? In-fighting and challenges?"

Derek straightened and pulled his t-shirt up to expose his stomach. Four angry wounds, six or seven inch long slashes, ran around his side under his ribs, hardly beginning to heal.

"What happened?" Stiles breathed, reaching his hand out towards the damaged skin, as if, like Thomas the Apostle, he needed tangible proof.

Derek, pulled his shirt down hastily and Stiles snatched his hand back like it had been burnt.

"The alpha in my pack doesn't tolerate insubordination," Derek said without emotion.

"Alpha? That's why they're not healing?" Stiles whispered.

Derek nodded. "I'm probably not the most obedient, or humble, omega they've ever allowed into their pack," he murmured.

"Derek, you can't stay there. Not if they do … that."

"I'm grateful they've taken me in. Allowed me to stay".

"You're grateful?" Stiles was astounded.

"A lone omega with no pack …? Well, let's just say I'd have been lucky to survive this long without a pack. So, death or pack? Not a difficult choice."

"So, you're going back?"

"As soon as I've disposed of my assets here."

"I'll come with."

"Stiles!"

"I told you. I'll be your stalker."

"Let me explain this, Stiles. You can give up your college course, trek across Europe and follow me everywhere. I can't stop you.

"But that will only make it more difficult for me to rein in my wolf. I continually feel compelled to seek you out and make you my bond mate. When I sense you near me, the compulsion is stronger. Nearly overwhelming, as it has been coming back here.

"And as much as I will fight against it, just trying to stay away from you will cause problems for me. Being close to you will make it impossible for me to obey my alpha.

"That will get me killed, Stiles. _You_ will get me killed."


	12. Chapter 12: Magic Never Ends Well

**A/N Only one more chapter after this. Thanks to all who are following. :) XXX**

**Chapter 12: Magic Never Ends Well**

The pool house was silent. The two men sat facing each other; one wore a stern unyielding expression; the other, one of horror.

After some moments the younger man spoke in a hushed voice, disbelieving, "I'd get you killed?"

"Stop taking your Adderall, Stiles. How does it make you feel? Can you cope as easily without it? No. You can't. Well, magnify that a thousand times. That's what you're asking of me by being near me. You are asking me to act normally, cope as usual, obey my alpha, be a loyal pack-mate, when every fibre of my being is pulling me to seek you out and bond myself to you.

"My alpha is already not well disposed towards me. I seem to have a knack for irritating her and the rest of my pack. She hardly needs an excuse to beat me back into place. If I become less focused, less obedient, she _will_ kill me, I don't doubt.

"If you make it impossible for me to carry out my omega duties and remain submissive to the pack you _will_ get me killed, Stiles. It's not an exaggeration."

Derek stood and wandered to the back of the room. With a sigh he sat heavily on the edge of the day bed that was pushed against the rear wall, bracing an elbow on the top of the adjacent side table to let his head rest wearily on his upturned palm. He was sitting directly behind Stiles now, unable to see the younger man's face.

Another silence engulfed them.

Then, without turning around, Stiles said suddenly, "But wait, if you were to stay here you could be an alpha again, yes?"

"In certain circumstances, yes, but…"

"So, stay here." Stiles turned then, looking hopefully at Derek over the back of the love seat. "Be an alpha and you won't get…assaulted like that. You'd be safe."

"Stiles," Derek said gently, "I'd be no safer. The alpha in France, the one who owed fealty to my mother's pack? The one who took me in? He was killed last year by one of the pack betas. That beta is the alpha now. Until someone challenges her leadership and kills her too. I won't tie you to that, Stiles. I'm sorry."

"But…"

"Stiles, there is only one answer here. I go back to France. You go back to Irvine. It isn't the answer you want. But it's the only one that works."

"You don't want me, do you? Don't want to be with me?" Stiles asked quietly, trying not to think how pathetic he might sound.

"Stiles, you're an idiot!" Derek said harshly. "None of this would be an issue if I didn't want you. You know that."

"Then, if you really want this," Stiles threw a hand back a forth in the space between them, "you'd fight for it. You'd make it work, not just give up at the first hurdle." He was whining now, and channelling his much younger self, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Seriously, Stiles? You think this is giving up? I have to fight the instinctive pull to come find you and bond with you every single moment of my existence. Do you think that that's giving up? Because to me it's just the opposite. I have to actively work at staying focused on my new pack, my new life. It _hurts_, Stiles. _Hurts_.

"But I do it because it's the only way I know to keep you safe. Keep you alive. No, I haven't given up. I give in and stay here and I'll be responsible for your death. I can't do that Stiles. And you have no right to ask me to do that," Derek's voice was icy.

"What will you do with the house?" Stiles asked flatly, "I don't want it."

"I'll sell it. I won't be back," Derek replied hollowly.

Stiles blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. A tear escaped and left a thin stain on his cheek. He nodded slowly. "Alright, I'll go back to UCI. I'll make like I never met you," he murmured miserably. "I won't be back to Beacon Hills either. Dad will have to come up to Irvine to visit."

He thought he heard a hushed, "I'm so sorry," in response but he couldn't be certain; wasn't sure if he cared.

"So, I guess we should move the mountain ash between us and go tell Lydia she can start the wake?" Stiles said coolly, as he swivelled back around in his seat before pushing himself up to go to the door.

"Thank you," Derek whispered glumly, before joining him. And though Stiles wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around 'his alpha' as he still thought of Derek, he didn't even look at him.

They both bent down awkwardly at the threshold of the doorway, each putting out a right hand to brush away the ash line. Their fingers hit the same invisible barrier at the same time. They tried again with the same result.

"What?" Stiles looked up at Derek who was straightening up and backing away from the door.

"Fucking magic!" Derek spat, shocking Stiles at the vehemence of his outburst.

"Why won't it…"

"What did the witch say to Lydia? 'Be of one mind'? Fucking witches!"

"What's wrong, Derek? Why can't we leave? I agree with you. We need to go our separate ways. I agree. I don't want to. But I accept what you say. We have to live on different sides of the planet. We agree. We should be able to leave, shouldn't we?"

"Stiles, calm down. Don't have a panic attack on me."

"No. Yeah, right. Sorry."

"I said that magic never ends well. Human language is never accurate, discrete enough. Lydia should have known better… Oh crap! Maybe she did know."

Derek ran his hands through his hair as he began pacing the small room.

"Derek? Derek, what is it? You're scaring me," Stiles pleaded.

The omega stopped pacing abruptly. He looked at Stiles and his serious expression took Stiles' breath away.

"Derek? Speak to me. What did Lydia know?"

"Sit down, Stiles," Derek murmured quietly, and Stiles thought the mountain ash might be stopping the air from entering the pool house too because he suddenly felt that he couldn't breathe.

He backed away until he was pressed against the wall alongside the small table and daybed. "Derek?"

"I think Lydia loaded the dice," the werewolf said bluntly.

"What do you mean?"

Derek took the seat Stiles had vacated a few moments earlier and sat sideways, leaning over the arm of the love seat to stare at the mocking line of mountain ash on the other side of the door. He sighed before mumbling, "I'm so sorry, Stiles, so sorry."

"For what? I'm seriously freaking now. What's the matter?"

Glancing only briefly at Stiles before returning to stare at the black dirt, Derek drew in a long breath then said curtly, "Lydia either asked for, or was tricked into, an enchantment that would only allow one possible outcome. We're here until we agree to … to be together. Agreeing to stay apart won't work. The 'be of one mind' part of the spell has a double meaning. In this case, it doesn't mean to be agreed on a course of action, whatever that action is. …"

"It means, um, being bonded?" Stiles asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I think so. Bonding is a 'one mind' thing – in magic terms. It doesn't mean the parties think as one, just that they become one relationship. Like a married couple can be a separate legal entity.

"That's why magic is never a solution. Language is too imprecise to discern the aims of the spell if you aren't very skilled and very careful."

"Okay, okay, look, it's not the end of the world. Someone else will have to let us out."

Derek hitched a sceptical eyebrow.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Stiles dialled Lydia.

"No! I'm not…" Lydia said the moment she answered.

"No, Lydia, listen. There's a problem with the spell. You need to come and let us out …"

"I'm not falling for tha…"

"Lydia!" Derek shouted at the phone from across the room. "We've done what you asked but your damn spell is defective. Come and let us out."

"Honestly, Lydia," Stiles added, "we've sorted everything between us. You know, agreed stuff. But we still can't leave here. You have to break the mountain ash line from the outside or we'll be stuck here 'til we die of thirst. I mean it, Lydia!"

"Alright, alright, I'll be down. Don't go anywhere until I get there," Lydia laughed lightly.

A few minutes later, Lydia was flustered and jittery, and Stiles noted that it was not a good look on her.

"I don't understand," she complained. "I'm human. I put the ash in place. I paid for the enchantment. Why won't it let me break the line?"

"Witches!" Derek informed her angrily, "Witches never give a straight answer to a straight question, a straight spell for a straight problem. Trust them at your peril. Only it's Stiles and I that are in peril."

"Oh crap, Derek, Stiles, I'm really sorry. I'll get onto the coven now and…"

"Don't bother!" snapped Derek ferociously. "They'll deny it. Blame you. You didn't make it clear, you weren't 'pure of heart', you expected too much, you didn't tip them with silver…"

"Tip them?" Lydia yelped, "Stiles, I swear I didn't know…"

"Lydia, shut up," Derek commanded like the alpha Stiles remembered, "Go back to the house. Say nothing. Don't come back here until Stiles texts or phones you again."

"Derek?" Stiles said slowly.

"Stiles, you have to trust me. You too Lydia. You need to ignore what happens here until Stiles contacts you again. Understand?"

"You got it," Lydia murmured quietly. "Stiles, let me know when…" She didn't finish her sentence but pulled a face that might have been a sad smile and turned to stride quickly back to the house.

The two men watched silently as Lydia disappeared out of sight into the rear of the building.

"Ok, big guy, what are you thinking? You've got a plan, yeah? 'Cause I got bupkis."

"There's only one way out now," Derek breathed balefully, as he flicked his hand in the space between them.

Stiles watched in fascinated horror as Derek's hand transformed, sharp werewolf claws erupting from the ends of his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Stiles."


	13. Chapter 13: Giving Fate the Finger

**Chapter 13: Giving Fate the Finger**

Stiles gaped at the hand in front of him, although it was now more clawed paw than hand.

He wasn't gifted with super-swift werewolf reactions; he didn't even have the speed and coordination that many humans could lay claim to. But his instinct kicked in with unnatural haste as realisation dawned.

Stiles used the energy from the jolt of cold dread that shot through his body to spur him into action. As the claws made their move, he leapt at the werewolf, throwing his whole body at Derek with every ounce of strength he had ever possessed.

There was an anguished wail of, "No!" which he knew had been forced from his own lips.

He landed heavily on top of Derek, pressing both of them into the tiled floor of the pool house. Derek's transformed hand was trapped between them and Stiles felt a pain burn into his chest. He knew Derek's claws had drawn blood but he couldn't think about that just now. He had a bigger problem to deal with.

Derek's eyes were unfocused and unblinking.

"Derek, no. Nooo! Please, don't do this. Please, please. I'll do anything. Please, no."

He was vaguely aware of wetness on his cheeks and his t-shirt felt worryingly damp too.

Grasping Derek by the shoulders, he risked raising his torso slightly in order to shake the man pinned beneath him violently enough to cause his head to smack against the ground.

Relief flooded through Stiles as Derek's eyes suddenly found his.

"Let me go," Derek mumbled gruffly, ambiguously.

"No," Stiles tentatively placed a hand against Derek's cheek. "Don't do this. We'll find a way through this. Please Derek. You can't believe I would want this."

"I can't protect you, Stiles. Like I couldn't protect my family. Let me go. Please."

Stiles had never heard Derek sound so small, so defeated. His chest was so full of emotion that he was finding it difficult to get sufficient oxygen into his lungs. Then beneath him he felt Derek's claws recede. He slid sideways off of Derek on to the floor before scrambling up, pulling the other with him. There was no resistance from the werewolf, just numb compliance which added to Stiles alarm.

He pushed Derek to sit on the love seat and sat next to him. Looking down he saw five bloody marks on his shirt. The scratches from Derek's claws didn't hurt but Stiles knew that was due to the adrenaline that was coursing through his bloodstream. They didn't need immediate attention. The werewolf, however, most certainly did.

"Derek? Derek, look at me," Stiles instructed, forcing his panic down to sound as calm as he could. "Do that again and I'll kill you," he told the wolf seriously, as their eyes met.

"That would be the point," Derek mumbled without humour.

"Yeah, got it. Except not on my watch. You don't do that to me, understand, Hale? My mom died. I know how shitty that is for those left behind. You of all people ought to know that. I'm not going through that again. You have no right to make me relive that kind of pain. You understand?"

"It's you that doesn't understand, Stiles. We trapped here. The spell has removed our choice in this. My death would save you."

"No, your death would _destroy_ me. Destroy me, Derek. You do this and I'll come find you. I'll be your stalker in the afterlife because, like I keep trying to tell you, I have no interest in living without you.

"I know I don't have any weird werewolf bonding compulsion shit to have to contend with. So leave aside the wolfie stuff because none of that has anything to do with how I feel about you. I'm human, I don't have any bonding mojo going on. So, my feelings for you are down to me. Nothing else.

"And, you know what? I've changed my mind. I'm not prepared to walk away. I will not live without you. I've been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and crossed it off my bucket list."

"Stiles, we don't have a choice, we…"

"No, Derek, shut the fuck up. Yeah, I get that our choices are limited by werewolf lore and now some spell that Lydia purchased with less thought that she would buy a purse. Both the spell and the wolf malarkey seem to be pushing us into bonding.

"Now, usually, someone pushes me one way; I go the other. Just because. Only here's the thing; I agree with this. I want to be your bond-mate."

"But…" Derek started mournfully.

"Stop it, Derek. I've heard all your reasons against this and I'm not impressed. I die when you do. So? If you'd been successful just now, how long do you think it would have taken me to follow you? Do you think my dad would conclude it was a suicide pact or some sordid murder-suicide thing?"

"Stiles!"

"Derek, stop being so prissy. That's what we're talking about here. You dress it up as some sort of noble act on your part, but from where I'm sitting it's just plain selfish.

"I'm not ready for you to not be here. If you're not here, Derek, there's no point in me being here either.

"And no, I'm not being over-dramatic, just stating a fact. Because for more than three years I've tried the alternative. And my life without Derek Hale isn't worth the pain. So, what I said before? About going our separate ways? Forget it. Don't want to do that anymore. Won't do it. Can't.

"So that just leaves us with one option, to be bond mates. Yeah, I heard the negative press. But I figure we'll weather whatever shit comes our way and deal. I don't care if we constantly have to fend off rogue omegas, or ambitious betas, or hunters that don't abide by their code, or a shit-load of kanimas. We'll deal. Like we always did before.

"I say we do this, Derek. I want to be your bond mate. For good or bad. You know, the whole 'for richer or poorer' stuff.

"So, what do we need to do to get the mountain ash line …? WAIT!"

His shout made Derek flinch, although he would undoubtedly deny it.

"Mountain ash!" Stiles exclaimed excitedly, "I can do this!"

Then he was at the doorway. He drew his hand over the ash line from the door post one side, then across to the other post. He did this several times, his face a study of concentration. Then a smile began to work its way across his lips.

"Derek, it's working! Come here."

When Derek moved to his side, Stiles thrust his free hand into Derek's palm and continued to waft his other hand slowly over the line.

As they watched, the granules of ash began to agitate. Slowly, as they skipped and shimmied and slithered away, a gap began to appear in the middle of the line. When the gap was about the width of his shoulders, Stiles stopped.

"It worked," he whispered, straightening up. "I did that. I had the power to do that. I believed I could do it and I could. Like with the ash line around Jungle that night with the kamina. Only this was enchanted. But I still did it."

"That shouldn't be possible," Derek said hoarsely, a note of wonder in his voice.

"No, but I did it. Me! Although it was stronger, this feeling, this power, when our hands touched. I don't know how but…" Stiles glanced down to where their hands were still linked, scratching his head with his other hand. "Something's happening to me, Derek. Since I've been back here. I can tell when Scott's around, you know, like I can sense his presence or something. I knew he was on my roof even before he was near enough for me to hear him. And, although I didn't realise it at the time, I knew Scott was at my house again this morning.

"And you, at your house earlier? I knew when you stepped out into the clearing, even from where I was on the stairs inside. Knew exactly where you were standing and knew the instant you were in the house. How could I do that?"

"Maybe it's the bond?" Derek squeezed Stiles hand, before releasing it. "I don't know how. Perhaps Deaton can… Does it bother you?"

"No. I think I ought to be creeped out by it. But I'm not. Just surprised. And pleased, I guess. I quite like not being the powerless human." Stiles grinned.

"You never were powerless, Stiles. But your ability to move the mountain ash? I have to say that that's pretty, um, 'awesome'!"

"Yep, it is, isn't it? So you know what Derek? You and me? We're gonna give Fate the finger. We're gonna make this work between us. _I'll_ make it work, just like I made the ash obey me. And I think that with you, I'm stronger, _we're_ stronger. Together we can do anything, Derek. We belong together. Yeah, yeah, I know; cheesey as fondue, but I mean it."

The two men stood in silence, eyes locked as though their future could be read in their irises.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Derek asked solemnly after a few moments.

"Weren't you listening? Yes! You're what I want, Derek Hale. As in 'til death do us part' wanting. But I'm not prepared for our lives to be short or difficult, so I will be fighting to keep us alive and happy in any way I can. And maybe I have some mega-skills of my own now."

"You must have," Derek said under his breath, "because, like the mountain ash, I find myself wanting to do what you're asking."

"For real? Because I don't want any more of this 'falling on your sword' shit because I can't cope with that."

"Um, I think _you_ fell on it actually," Derek glanced at the front of Stiles' tee, looking mortified. A bloody wet patch had spread across the middle of the shirt and five sharp-edged tears were evident. You didn't need to know about werewolves to know they were made by the claws of some animal.

"Looks worse than it is," Stiles tried for blasé.

"Sorry." The werewolf shook his head, shamefaced.

"It was an accident. Don't worry about it," Stiles reached up and held Derek's face gently in his hands. "Small price to pay for having you here," he whispered before bringing his lips to meet Derek's.

Derek returned the kiss and parted his lips to let Stiles in. Stiles slipped one hand to the back of Derek's head while the other settled on his hip. He sighed into the kiss as Derek's hands splayed out across his back and drew him closer.

Then suddenly Stiles was backing away.

At Derek's confused and discouraged expression, Stiles murmured quickly, "Getting blood on you. Let's go back to my house. Dad's first aid kit is state-of-the-art."

Derek nodded and smiled just barely.

"It's okay," Stiles said gently, "I love you, Derek. We can make this work. We _will_ make this work."

Derek stared at his shoes and said quietly, "Do you remember, when you went to see Deaton that day, the day you missed school?" Derek looked up as Stiles nodded, "Well, I should have said something that day. It was true then. It's true now. I love you, Stiles."

"Then we can conquer the world, natural or supernatural," Stiles said fondly. "C'mon… We need to get out of here before this turns into a scene from one of Lydia's favourite movies. … Oh, wait. Lydia's present."

Stiles stepped over to the small table and pulled open the drawer beneath its polished wood top. Lying in the drawer on its side was a small gift bag covered with cartoon dogs on a sparkly blue background with a garish silver bow fastened to its handles. A 'Happy 21st' gift tag tied next to the bow was signed with just a cursive letter 'L' and four crosses.

Retrieving the bag, Stiles peered into it – and started laughing.

"What?"

Stiles passed the bag to Derek and watched him turn a very pretty shade of pink as he took a peek.

"Why, Mr Hale, I do believe you're blushing," Stiles teased.

"Seriously?" Derek grumbled, looking into the bag at the pack of condoms, bottle of lube and large studded leather dog collar that Lydia had tied with little silver bows. "I'm going to kill her!"

"And I'm going to ask her where she shopped," Stiles smirked. "C'mon, I have a date with a first aid kit and a super-hot, soon-to-be-alpha-again, werewolf. My alpha! And I intend to make full use of Lydia's present."

* * *

><p>Two dark figures crept silently from the pool house and snuck back to the driveway out front. One hitched himself up onto a low wall just out of sight of the main house, while the other, broader, shadow disappeared into the night.<p>

* * *

><p>While he waited for Derek to come back with his car, Stiles took out his phone and composed a text:<p>

**To Lydia:**

_All sorted & ash gone. Lots 2 tell (mind out of gutter Ms Martin!).  
>Yes D my bf now. ;-D ;-D<br>__Thx 4 evrythg. Bt no more spells! :-{ D vy Grrr!  
>Thx 4 gift. (More Grrr! frm D) D &amp; me gonna make gd use of it now.<br>Mr H will b my bondm8 (& b alpha again) b4 morning! [fans self!]  
>D says his French Alpha b glad 2c bk of him – nrly got :-) <em>_frm D! :-0  
>Gonna get D to fix up his hse 4 wen I'm bk frm UCI.<br>Sorry abt party. Spk tmrw.  
>BTW, can my dad crash at yrs 2nite?<br>Love u ((((XxXx))))_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hope you enjoyed this story even half as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
>And if anyone reading this has any influence with the Powers That Be please ask them to release the S3 dvd in the UK asap! S3 &amp; S4 on the box would be good too.<br>Cheers, m'dears.


End file.
